God of War Search for Salvation
by Omniscent1
Summary: Kratos, after his victory over Zeus, is given a chance by a stranger to have his family back. All he has to do is bring to him the swords Soul Edge and Soul Calibur.
1. Chapter 1: The Bargain

God of War: Search for Salvation

Chapter 1: The Bargain

Kratos lay in a pool of his own blood, feeling the life slip away from him. This time, Kratos would not fight death. He had suffered and lost too much. Now, at long last, he would be at peace.

Then, unexpectedly, he felt his life returning. He could feel his wound healing, feel his strength replenished.

_No_! he thought. _Why can't I die? Why must I continue to live and suffer?_

Then, Kratos heard someone cackling behind him. Leaping to his feet, Kratos turned towards the source. To his surprise, he found himself facing a strange figure. It had the appearance of a wiry man dressed in dark garments, but its hair was acid green and its eyes were a piercing blue with slit pupils.

The creature continued its cackling. "That was a close call," it said. "I was afraid I had lost you."

Kratos was about to reach for his Blades of Exile, when he remembered that he had thrown them away when he had killed Zeus. Kratos adopted a fighting stance, preparing to clash with whatever the thing was.

"Who are you?" Kratos demanded.

"Someone with an eye for talent," it replied. "My name is Ziradus, and I must say, you are a talented warrior, Kratos."

"How do you know me?" asked Kratos warily.

"Oh, I've known about you for a long time," said Ziradus. "I've been watching you battle your way through the years and I've never seen a more impressive record." He began to tick off his fingers. "You've killed Ares, Athena, Poseidon, Hades, Hermes, Helios, Hephaestus, Persephone and last but most certainly not least, Zeus himself. Not to mention some titans, the Sisters of Fate and hordes of lesser opponents."

"So you are familiar with my feats," growled Kratos. "What do you want of me?"

Ziradus grinned. "Right to the heart of the matter. I like that." He began to pace about. "I do indeed require your…service in a small matter. There are two items that I've been wanting for a while. They exist in another dimension and are objects of great power. I want you to retrieve them for me."

"Why should I?" demanded Kratos.

"Because," Ziradus said, "I will return to you something dear that you lost years ago." He looked Kratos dead in the eye. "Your family."

Kratos felt as though he had aged fifty years. Could it be? Could he, the Ghost of Sparta, cursed with the nightmares of slaughtering his wife and daughter, finally have what he craved most? It seemed too good to be true, and Kratos was wary of that fact.

"I've been promised such things before," said Kratos, "only to be betrayed once I had finished my task. How can I know you won't do the same?"

Ziradus smirked. "A valid point. I suppose that you have been lied to one time too many. Very well, a show of good faith then." Ziradus raised a hand and a silver mist gathered. The mist twisted and merged until it began to take the shape of two human figures, a girl's and a woman's. Soon, the mist formed before Kratos's unbelieving eyes into none other than his daughter, Calliope and his wife, Lysandra.

Calliope looked around at her surroundings, clearly startled. Then, her frightened eyes fell upon her father. "Daddy?" Lysandra hugged her close and said, "Kratos, what's happening? Where are we?"

Kratos stepped toward them and fell to his knees. He reached out and took his daughter in his hands. Her skin felt smooth and warm, just as he remembered. His breath came out in ragged sobs. "Calliope? Lysandra? Is it really you?"

"They're real," said Ziradus. "Flesh and blood. Anyway, that's the deal: bring my item back to me, and you get your family back." He raised his hand again and the two flew backwards with a scream. Kratos leapt up in rage and roared, "Give them back!"

Ziradus calmly rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "All in good time, my friend. First, bring back what I want."

Glaring at the smug humanoid, Kratos growled, "And what are these things you want?"

"They are called Soul Edge and Soul Calibur," said Ziradus. "They are weapons of great power. And evil. It is said that whoever wields the cursed swords will be utterly corrupted by them. Only someone with a strong will can resist them."

"Then I assume you have a weak will," said Kratos scathingly.

Ziradus bristled. "Be careful, Ghost of Sparta, or you'll find yourself with a new nightmare haunting you." He gripped Calliope's neck and she let out a small shriek.

Features thick with rage, Kratos snarled, "I warn you, Ziradus; if you so much as scratch her, I'll make you beg for death!"

Ziradus just laughed. "Ah, Kratos. That's what I like about you: always so eager to kill and maim." He released his grip on Calliope. "I assure you, I'm _very_ strong-willed. I just need you to fetch them because there are…certain individuals I'd prefer to avoid in that dimension."

Kratos continued to glare at Ziradus. "And if I complete this task, then you will give me my family back?"

"Of course, Kratos," said Ziradus silkily. "So, do we have a deal?"

Kratos retreated within himself for a moment to think it over, weighing the possible benefits and consequences of what he would have to do. He looked back at Ziradus. "Weapons are only good for one thing. What do you plan on destroying with these two swords once you have them?"

"What does that matter to you?" asked Ziradus and Kratos noted that his voice sounded a little strained. "My goals will not affect you or your family. Now, do we have a deal?"

For a minute longer, Kratos thought it over. In the end, his desire to have his family back outweighed anything else.

"We have a deal," said Kratos. "But be warned Ziradus: betray me, and whatever plans you have will never succeed. I will see to it that you will not live long enough to put them into action."

Ziradus smiled broadly. "Excellent!" He looked over at Kratos's discarded Blades of Exile and the Golden Fleece. A bright light flashed in his eyes and the items flew back to Kratos. "You'll need these. I've restored power to the Fleece, just so you know. I can't have you dieing on me, though I hardly think that anyone in that dimension will pose a challenge for you."

Kratos put on the Fleece and took back his blades. "Where am I to find these weapons of yours?"

"I do not know where exactly they are," said Ziradus, "for they are each currently wielded by someone. All I know are their names; a man named Siegfried wields Soul Calibur and a creature called Nightmare wields Soul Edge. You'll have to find them yourself." His eyes flashed again and a swirling vortex appeared. Ziradus looked back at Kratos. "This portal will take you to the dimension. Best of luck, Spartan. Not that you need it."

Kratos looked at the portal and then at his family. Ziradus gave him a repugnant smile. "Don't worry about your family Kratos. I'll take good care of them."

With a last look back at his family and a glare at Ziradus, Kratos stepped through the portal. As he flew through swirling colors and sounds, Kratos felt adamant determination fill him.

_Calliope…Lysandra…I will find the swords and I then I will finally be reunited with you both. Nothing will stop me! NOTHING!_

And so, Kratos began another quest in the hope of at long last finding salvation from the nightmares and memories that continually haunted him. Woe to those that would stand in his way.


	2. Chapter 2: The Journey Begins

Chapter 2: The Journey Begins

Kratos was flung out of the portal and into the outskirts of some coastal city. Where he was, Kratos had no idea. Ziradus had sent him on a mission and he had not the faintest idea of where to start.

"How helpful of you, Ziradus," Kratos said to thin air, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Giving me a task and no direction."

"Oh, come now Kratos," said a voice. "Was that really necessary?"

Kratos whirled around and found himself facing a ghostly apparition of Ziradus. The being smiled at Kratos and said, "A simple astral projection, my friend. Have no fear, for I'll be your guiding light on this journey."

Kratos sneered at the smiling phantom. "If you want to help me, then tell me where I am!"

The specter of Ziradus spread its arms. "Why, you're in your own homeland of Greece, specifically just outside of the city Athens. I believe that I forgot to mention that this dimension is actually quite similar to your own. I suppose that this is what your dimension would like a few centuries into the future. But never mind that." He pointed towards the city. "In there, you must find passage to the Holy Roman Empire and then travel to the city of Ostrheinsburg. There, you will find the blades that I want, as well as their wielders."

"What is this Holy Roman Empire?" Kratos asked in a confused voice.

The apparition sighed. "Perhaps I should tell you a little more about this dimension. Currently, there are many empires fighting each other for dominance. They are the Spanish Empire, the Ottoman Empire, the French Empire, the Holy Roman Empire, and several more."

"And where does Greece stand in all this?" Kratos asked, merely out of curiosity.

"Unfortunately, Greece is under the control of the Ottoman Empire. That nation as you know it does not exist here. Sparta itself is long gone."

Kratos snorted. "No wonder Greece fell. Without Sparta, Greece is nothing."

The phantom of Ziradus rolled its eyes. Typical Spartan arrogance. "While I'm sure that you would like to fantasize about what Greece would be like with Sparta still existing," it said, "I must remind you that you have work to do."

Kratos glared at the specter and snarled, "You'll have your precious swords, Ziradus. I'll destroy anything that gets in my way."

The phantom smiled broadly. "I have no doubt that you will. In fact, I'm looking forward to seeing the bloodshed that you will wreak. So, take care, Ghost of Sparta. I'll be watching you." With that, the phantom vanished.

Kratos uttered a low growl at the spot where the specter had stood and then started for the city.

Inside of Athens, Kratos saw a bustling, prosperous metropolis. Merchants traded and haggled, soldiers patrolled for any sign of trouble, and ordinary citizens walked about talking to each other.

Naturally, due to his unnaturally pale skin, Kratos attracted much attention. People whispered about him behind his back, comparing him to a ghost or some other such thing. Of course, they all made sure that Kratos could not hear them; his build, immense scars, wicked-looking blades and savagery in his eyes warned everyone around him that to anger him was to die. If they were lucky.

Kratos soon came to a fair sized ship docked in the harbor. He stepped up to a man who was busily unloading a large crate from the ship and said, "Where is the captain of this ship?"

The man took a good look at Kratos and nearly dropped the crate. Eyes fixed on Kratos, he stammered, "He's…uh…well…"

"Right here."

Kratos turned and saw an aged yet still strong man coming towards him. He wore fine, albeit ragged, clothes and a wide brimmed hat. At his side was a rapier, which to Kratos looked like a joke. Staring levelly at the Spartan, the man said, "I am captain Adrastos and this is my ship. What do you want?"

"I seek passage to Ostrheinsburg," said Kratos. "Can you take me there?"

"Why do you want to go to that accursed place?" asked the captain. "Don't you know the stories?"

"My reasons are my own. Now tell me, can you take me to Ostrheinsburg?"

Adrastos pursed his lips. "That city is a living hell. I can take you as far as the mainland, but not an inch further."

"Fair enough," said Kratos. "When can you leave?"

"Not so fast," said Adrastos. "I don't transport anyone for free, and since taking you to Holy Roman Empire waters will set me back in revenue, the cost will be steep."

Normally, this would be the point where Kratos would seize the captain by the throat and ask him one more time before snapping his neck. However, Kratos knew that he could not sail in unfamiliar waters without help. In a phenomenal feat of self-control, Kratos replied, "I have no coin."

"Well then, I suggest you get some," said the captain. "You look like you can handle yourself in a fight. Maybe you should try the pit fighter arena over there." He jerked his thumb behind him towards a building from which loud shouts and cheers came.

Kratos looked at the building and back at Adrastos. "How much would I need for you to take me?"

"One thousand gold pieces," stated the captain, "and that amount is final."

Kratos gave the aged man a threatening glare, causing the ship captain to fall back a step. "Very well," growled Kratos. "I'll bring you your gold."

He pushed aside Adrastos and made for the building.

The inside of the pit fighter arena was loud, crowded and reeked of booze, sweat and blood. To Kratos, it was almost like entering a Spartan tavern. Almost.

Kratos pushed through the crowd gathered around a circular ditch just in time to see a large man lay out his opponent with one devastating uppercut. Cheers came from those that had bet on him and groans of disappointment from those that had not.

Kratos scoffed; the victor was a sloppy fighter. He had no discipline, no timing, no anything. The only thing he had was his size, which in a real fight counted for little. A Spartan child would have been able to take him down.

A portly man, whom Kratos guessed ran the whole thing, entered the pit and shouted, "Another victory for the mighty Arsen! Is there anyone who dares challenge this man? I have with me this bag of gold, two hundred pieces, for anyone who manages the feat!" He held the bag aloft while Arsen beat his chest and snarled at the surrounding people in what was supposed to be a threatening manner. To Kratos, he just looked stupid.

Pushing his way through, Kratos came up to the wooden wall and deftly hopped over it. The portly man whooped and cried out, "Looks like we have a challenger, and I must say he looks like he's itching for a fight! Place your bets!"

While the patrons stormed over to the bookies, the man walked over to Kratos. "You'll have to put down your weapons. Other than that, anything goes." With that, he quickly exited the ring.

Kratos stuck his blades in the ground and sized up his opponent. Arsen was about a head taller and bore a fair amount of scars. Obviously, he had been through many fights. A normal man would have been intimidated by this bone-crusher, but Kratos had fought and beaten monsters of far greater strength and size. This man could barely be considered an opponent.

Arsen, however, remained convinced that he would win. Grinning insolently, he said, "What do you think you're doing here, little ghost? Don't you have a house or a graveyard to haunt?" He put up his fists. "I'm gonna break you in half."

Kratos just sneered at him, daring him to make the first move.

Arsen obliged; with a burst of speed, he aimed his right fist in a hook punch at Kratos's face. He could have easily dodged it, but decided to let the man strike him. The fist impacted on Kratos's cheek. Arsen howled in agony and clutched his hand; it felt as though he had broken it. Kratos, of course, had not even felt the blow. He, in turn, dealt Arsen a lazy backhand. There was not much effort in it, but it nevertheless nearly broke the man's entire ribcage and flung him out of the pit and into the crowd.

Needless to say, Arsen was out for the count

The roaring of the crowd was soon replaced by dead silence. None of them, in all their years, had ever seen anything like what they had just witnessed. Then the portly man came back in the ring and cried, "We have a victor! What an impressive display of strength!" The crowd quickly erupted into fresh roars of glee.

Kratos looked down at the man. "I'll take my money now."

"Really?" he asked. "Do you just want two hundred pieces of gold?" His eyes sparkled. "Or do you want _five times_ that? How about it? For a thousand pieces of gold, you'll face three of my best fighters. If you win, the amount is yours. If you lose once, the gold stays with me. What do you say?"

Kratos almost smiled. This would be the easiest thousand gold pieces he had ever earned. His answer came in the form of a single nod. With a great bellow, the portly man stated the challenge which brought forth a collective roar so loud that it was like a thunderstorm. The portly man exited the pit and began the fights.

First, Kratos faced a fast-moving Capoeira fighter who showed off many fancy slips and maneuvers. Kratos dispatched him with a single pulled punch, nearly fracturing the man's head. Next, he faced a man who utilized some form of grappling combat and attempted to use a submission hold on Kratos. He ended up with his left arm pointing the wrong way. Finally, Kratos faced a self-proclaimed Muy Thai "Bringer of Death." Kratos promptly broke his jaw and pulled out two of his floating ribs.

With the thousand gold pieces, Kratos returned to Adrastos and handed them to him. "Here's your money," he said. "Now take me to Ostrheinsburg."

The captain nodded. "Very well, hop aboard and we'll leave."

Soon, the ship was under way, bringing Kratos closer to his destination and being reunited with his family.

l then, I suggest you get some,", Kratos replied, "out help. In a e snapping his neck. back in revenue, the cost will be stee


	3. Chapter 3: The Ghost Pirate Cervantes

Chapter 3

The Ghost Pirate Cervantes

Aboard his ghost ship, Cervantes prowled the waters, searching for an unfortunate vessel to supply him with souls. Days had gone by with no luck; already, he could feel himself weakening. He needed souls now.

Then, off in the distance, he saw a ship. It contained only a smattering of sailors, just enough to crew the vessel. But amongst the meager souls, Cervantes sensed one that was nothing anything he had felt before. It was filled with unimaginable raw power; in fact, whoever's soul it was clearly more than human.

Cervantes grinned evilly. That one soul was worth thousands of lesser ones. It would fuel him for years to come. To hell with the others aboard the ship, Cervantes only wanted that one.

At his whim, his phantom ship turned towards its unsuspecting counterpart. _Pray for deliverance, poor fool_, Cervantes thought, _for I am coming for your soul!_

Kratos leaned over the edge of the ship, staring hard at the water lapping at the wooden sides. For over a week, he had been sailing towards the Holy Roman Empire and towards his destination of Ostrheinsburg. Though the journey had gone smoothly, Kratos was impatient for it to end. The quicker he finished his task the quicker he would be reunited with his family.

During the journey, Kratos had not made any friends with Adrastos's crew. Not one of them would come within arms reach of Kratos; his appearance was the greatest contributor to this. Of course, Kratos couldn't care less about them; all that mattered was his mission.

He stared at the water for another minute, then uttered a low growl and stomped off towards Adrastos's cabin. Slamming the door open Kratos found the captain at a desk going over a map. He jerked up the moment he heard the door bang open. Spying Kratos, he sighed and asked, "What do you want?"

"How much longer is it until we reach the Holy Roman Empire?" Kratos demanded.

Adrastos rubbed his temples. "I told you, it will be at the very least another week or two before we get there, and that's if everything continues to go exactly as it has been."

"Can't you make this ship go any faster?"

"Not unless you want to climb up one of the masts and start blowing on the sail. Maybe that will help things go faster."

Kratos fixed the aged man with a hard glare. "I don't care much for your sarcasm."

"And I don't care much for your demands," retorted Adrastos, "so leave me be."

Kratos continued to glare at Adrastos. Normally, Adrastos took guff from no one, but he had been forced to make an exception with Kratos. Nobody in his crew was brave enough to look Kratos in the eye, let alone carry out a punishment on him. Adrastos himself was scared of the volatile Kratos and the look he was giving the captain made it clear that the only reason he had not killed him days ago was because he could not sail the ship without him. When they landed, things would most likely turn sour.

Kratos was about to make another harsh comment, when all of a sudden the man in crow's nest called out, "Captain! Ship on the starboard side!"

Both Adrastos and Kratos left the cabin and emerged onto the deck and looked to the right. Sure enough, there was a ship on the horizon. Adrastos cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up, "What kind of ship?"

The man took a few seconds to look and then shouted back, "I can't tell from this distance! All I can say for sure is that it's getting closer! I should be able to know shortly!"

The man fell silent and Adrastos grumbled, "God, I hope it's not a pirate ship. That's the last thing we need."

The man in the crow's nest gave another shout, "I can see it now! Captain, the ship…something's not right with it!"

"What do you mean?"

"It…it looks all pale and there's a mist swirling around it!"

Adrastos's eyes went wide with fear. "It's Cervantes!" he whispered. He then let out a tremendous roar, "Everyone, to your stations! We need to get out of here!"

Immediately, all hands went to their posts. Oars were brought out and the sails were all unfurled to catch as much wind as possible. Adrastos began to make his way to the helm. Kratos followed him and asked, "Who is Cervantes?"

The captain stopped dead in his tracks. "You don't know who Cervantes is?" he asked in disbelief. "Are you serious? He's the most feared pirate in the seas, an undead creature that devours the souls of all he kills! And now, we're next if we can't escape him!"

With that, he ran up to the helm and took hold, wrenching it hard to the left. With a groan, the ship slowly turned to it port side.

Kratos looked to the rear of the ship and saw that the ghostly ship was gaining. Within moments, it would overtake Adrastos's. Kratos had had enough dealings with magic to know that the ship was obviously enchanted and that Adrastos had no hope of outrunning it. Calmly, he drew his blades; time to take out some of his frustration.

Seconds later, the pursuing vessel pulled up alongside Adrastos's barely twenty feet away. Standing at its side stood a man dressed in swarthy pirate clothing, complete with a wide-brimmed hat. His skin was grayer than a storm cloud and his white, empty eyes stared directly at Kratos. Instantly, he knew that this had to be Cervantes.

The man raised a short blade into the air and cried out, "Enough of this! You know that you cannot escape me! Accept that!"

All around him, Kratos could hear the sailors whimper in fear. They had known that long before Cervantes had caught up with them. Kratos growled in disgust. Cowards.

Cervantes gave a wicked smile. "I could kill you all and feast on your souls, but fear not!" he called out again. "I have only interest in one of you!" He pointed with his blade at Kratos. "You! I have come for your soul, pale warrior!"

Without hesitation, Kratos leapt over the gap that separated the two ships and stood facing Cervantes. With the Blades of Exile in his hands, Kratos said, "You won't find my soul easy to take."

Cervantes laughed and drew another, longer blade. "Good! I like it when my prey fights back! It makes eating the soul even more satisfying!"

"Undead filth!" Kratos roared. "I will send you back to whatever pit you crawled from!"

"We'll just see about that," said Cervantes. With a savage cry, he lunged at Kratos, aiming to skewer him where he stood. An ordinary man would have been petrified with fear at the sight of the undead pirate attacking him. Kratos, however, had faced far worse foes than Cervantes.

With a fluid motion, he whirled his blades overhead. They hummed balefully, shining in the sunlight. Then, Kratos brought them down directly over Cervantes. The pirate looked up just in time to see the blades. With a great leap backwards, he barely managed to avoid them. Cervantes looked over at Kratos in surprise; he had not expected that.

Kratos knew that he had a great advantage; while he could attack Cervantes from a distance, the pirate could do nothing unless he managed to get close. Kratos did not intend to give him that chance.

His blades and their chains formed a whirlwind of metal. It took all of Cervantes' skill to either deflect or avoid the scything edges of the Blades of Exile. Cervantes was greatly impressed; he had never faced an opponent of Kratos's caliber.

_But don't that keeping me at a distance will keep you safe_, thought Cervantes. He avoided another strike and then hurled his shorter sword at Kratos. He was forced to stop his attack and dodge the incoming blade. As Kratos dodged, Cervantes wasted no time in closing the distance between them. He reached out his hand and the sword came flying back to him. Cervantes smiled triumphantly; now it would no longer be a one-sided fight.

Kratos now found himself on the defensive as Cervantes attacked with furious zeal. The two combatants exchanged blow after blow, sometimes nearly landing a killing strike, only to have it blocked or evaded.

Doubt began to worm into Cervantes's mind. This pale man was stronger, far stronger than a man had any right to be. Every time he parried one of Kratos's strikes, his arms felt like they were about to be wrenched from their sockets. What was he?

After exchanging a few more blows, Cervantes and Kratos locked blades. Cervantes pushed with all his might, but to no avail. It was like trying to push aside a mountain. Finally, Kratos shoved Cervantes away from him and followed up with a brutal kick to the pirate's stomach. The kick sent Cervantes flying right into the ship's mast, nearly breaking it.

Cervantes clutched his stomach, sputtering and coughing. He tried to regain his footing, but fell back down. Sheathing his blades, Kratos calmly walked over to the incapacitated pirate. Seeing Kratos coming after him Cervantes picked up his longer sword and made to stab Kratos through his chest. Contemptuously, Kratos knocked it out of Cervantes's hand and seized him by the throat in a grip that could crush iron. He then rammed his forehead into the pirate's face, felt it break beneath his skin. Cervantes struggled to free himself, but Kratos held him firm. Again and again, Kratos slammed his head into Cervantes's own. Soon, the pirate was still and Kratos effortlessly hefted him up and tossed him off the ship.

Cervantes sank beneath the water and into the murky depths.

Kratos looked down at the water and scoffed. Then, with another mighty leap, he rejoined Adrastos and his crew. All of them stared at Kratos in awe. Kratos ignored them and resumed his original position, gazing over the side of the ship as though nothing had happened.

Night fell over Adrastos's ship. Kratos, unable to sleep, returned to the deck in hopes that the night air would give to him some relief. As he walked onto the deck, he heard the sound of someone clapping their hands coming from behind him. He turned and saw the phantom of Ziradus with a look of obvious joy on his face.

"What do you want?" growled Kratos.

"Why, I simply want to congratulate you for the spectacular performance," he said. "After days of nothing, it was wonderful to see you in action again. Oh, it certainly wasn't as epic as some of your other battles, but it was glorious nonetheless! And the way you killed Cervantes…_savage_!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," said Kratos sarcastically, "now leave me be."

Ziradus pursed his lips in annoyance. "You should be a little more polite, Ghost of Sparta. After all, I'm the one holding all the cards."

With deliberate slowness, Kratos turned and faced the phantom. "You should remember that I have faced many who supposedly 'held all the cards.' None of them are alive now."

Ziradus chuckled. "Point taken. Very well, I shall leave you be. Just don't forget about our deal." With a mocking bow, the specter vanished.

Glowering at the spot where the specter had stood, Kratos said, "I won't Ziradus. And if you double-cross me, you will suffer. Be certain of that."


	4. Chapter 4: Defeat of a Samurai

Chapter 4

Defeat of a Samurai

After departing from the ship, Kratos wasted no time in continuing his journey. For days, he walked, stopping only for the briefest of times to rest, eventually coming to a remote village somewhere within the Holy Roman Empire. It was a pitiful thing; the buildings were old and ramshackle, the ground littered with filth. The people reflected their living conditions, wearing tattered clothing and appearing just short of skeletons with skin. Kratos, with his single-minded determination, was oblivious to all around him.

A short ways away, he spied an inn. The building was moderately better than those around it, but it still was a decrepit thing. Kratos flung open the door; inside there was no one except for a few deadbeats lounging about. The innkeeper himself was old, stooped and looked to be on the verge of collapsing. He was feebly sweeping the floor, though his efforts brought forth no result; the floor remained besmirched with filth.

Briskly, Kratos crossed over to the man. Upon sighting Kratos, the innkeeper's eyes widened. For a moment, he thought that a ghost had come to haunt him. After a second longer, though, he determined that this was not the case and that the abnormally pale man in front of him was in fact just that: a man.

Straightening himself up as much as he could, which made practically no difference, he asked in a gravelly voice, "Can I help you?"

Kratos hefted a large bag of gold. He had come into possession of it a few days ago when a group of bandits had foolishly attempted to hold him up for the Golden Fleece, resulting in their complete and utter annihilation. "I need food and drink, nothing more," he said, handing the man a few coins.

The innkeeper squinted at the coins, grunted an affirmation, and then shuffled off to the kitchen. Kratos took a seat at a nearby table and waited impatiently. Some time later, the old man returned bearing a plate of food and a chipped metal tankard. The food consisted of a slab of some sort of meat, a potato that looked like it had just been plucked from the ground, and a small pile of mush that Kratos could not identify. The tankard was filled with dark beer which gave off an acrid odor. It was a meal that a beggar would refuse, but Kratos ate without a word, consuming it all so fast he tasted nothing.

Kratos was finishing off the last few bites on his plate when suddenly, the inn's door banged open. Inside sauntered five men. All of them were dressed in cobbled-together armor and each bore a certain weapon. The one in the front, obviously the leader by the way the others gave him a respectful distance, casually walked over to Kratos, smiling as he did. Kratos peered at him from the corner of his eye and noticed that the man was eyeing the Golden Fleece with a greedy interest.

_Mercenaries_, he thought in disgust. _Hired fighters with no honor and all too willing to become thieves and degenerates when they have no work. _

"Well, hello friend," the man said in a conversational tone. "The name's Sebastian and these are my comrades, Heinrich, Klaus, Lutz, and Manfred." He indicated the four other men.

Kratos in turn responded with his usual greeting: "Go away."

Sebastian continued to smile, though it was now strained with irritation. "I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head, my friend. You see Lutz over there?" He motioned at the man gripping a mace in his hands, clearly eager to use it. "He's got a thing for breaking bones, especially those that belong to people who don't know when to keep quiet."

Kratos finished his food and drained his tankard in two great gulps. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood up, causing Sebastian to take a large step back. Kratos, at six and a half feet tall, towered over the five men, effectively making him appear far more intimidating than when he had been sitting down. Sebastian himself was good foot shorter than Kratos.

Glaring at Sebastian, Kratos said, "I will only say this once: get out of my sight or I will kill you all." He gave Sebastian a dismissive gesture. "Go find an old woman to steal from; that's the only kind of person you and your pack of vermin could possibly handle."

Sebastian flushed with outrage. "Boys, I think it's time we teach this pallid freak some manners." He backed up further and drew a broadsword. His companions drew their own weapons and formed a semicircle in front of Kratos. Sebastian pointed his blade at him. "Any last words?"

Kratos sneered. "Your fate has been sealed, fool."

"Kill the bastard!" Sebastian screeched. Lutz was the first to react; he lunged forward, mace swinging through the air. Kratos snapped up his hand and took hold of Lutz's head. Slowly, Kratos squeezed, crushing both the helmet Lutz wore and his skull. Lutz dropped his mace and clawed at Kratos's hand, screaming in agony. Manfred, wielding an ax, attempted to free his friend by cutting off Kratos's hand. Before he had half completed the motion, Kratos drew one of his Blades of Exile and sliced through the unfortunate man, disemboweling him.

Still holding the writhing Lutz, Kratos lashed the blade out, taking off Klaus's head as he rushed towards him. Then, with one final squeeze, Kratos mashed Lutz's head into a bloody pulp and hurled him at Heinrich with enough force to shatter both bodies three times over. Heinrich was smashed through the inn's wall and lay there in the dirt in a horrendously twisted mess.

Finally, Kratos focused his attention on Sebastian, who now looked like he was in shock. Dropping his sword, Sebastian held up his hands in defeat. "Look…just let me go. I swear you'll never see me again."

"I told you that if you did not leave, I would kill you. And I keep my word."

"No! Please, I'll do anything!" Sebastian begged.

Kratos stopped just short of Sebastian. "Anything?"

"Yes, anything!"

Kratos nodded. "You can die." Quicker than blinking, Kratos plucked Sebastian into the air like he was nothing and stabbed him three times, twice in the chest and once in the stomach. Sebastian let out a single, blood-laced gurgle and went limp.

Kratos let Sebastian's corpse fall to the floor and then casually sheathed the blade. Reaching into the bag of gold, he withdrew a dozen coins and tossed them at the innkeeper, who was now peeping out from behind the bar.

"For the mess," Kratos said simply. Without another word, he left the inn.

He did not notice a figure stand up and follow him out the door.

Kratos knew that he was being followed. He also knew that whoever it was wasn't trying to hide that fact. Finally on the outskirts of a wooded area, he stopped and turned to face the person.

It was a man, about as short as Sebastian had been, but clearly more adept at fighting. He carried himself with the kind of self-confidence and arrogance that came from years of fighting battles and winning. The only clothes he wore were a cloak and some other garments Kratos did not recognize. At his was a katana, poised ready to be unsheathed at half a moment's notice. It did not take a master combatant to tell that this man was no amateur.

"Who are you?" Kratos asked.

The man gave Kratos a cocky smile. "The name's Mitsurugi. Yours?"

"Kratos."

Mitsurugi nodded in confirmation. "I've been all over the world, searching for strong opponents. I saw your little exhibition over there at the inn. Not bad. Not bad at all.

"So, enough with the formalities." Like a flash, Mitsurugi drew his sword and poised himself in an attack position. "Let's go. I'll give you a real fight!"

Kratos glared contemptuously at Mitsurugi. "If you knew what I could do, you would not be so eager to face me," he said.

Mitsurugi let out a short burst of laughter. "Arrogant bastard, aren't you?"

"It's not arrogance if it's true."

"So show me. Prove your words."

Kratos sneered at him. "I don't have time for games. Be gone."

"What's the matter?" Mitsurugi taunted Kratos. "Are you afraid to face the mighty Mitsurugi? Well, you should be! I have fought a thousand battles, and won them all! Not even gods could stand against me!"

Kratos was sorely tempted to show him what a true god-slayer could do, but his desire to see his family again outweighed anything else. With a scowl, Kratos turned and set off towards his destination.

"Coward!" called Mitsurugi. "Fine, go! Go back to your lover if you have one! Of course, maybe she'd like a real man to satisfy her!" He let out a loud stream of laughter.

Kratos stopped dead, his features twisting up in a black rage. Mitsurugi had just touched a very open and very raw nerve. No one, mortal or god, insulted his family and got away unscathed. Not Ares, not Zeus and certainly not this man. With a roar, Kratos whipped out his blades and lashed out at Mitsurugi. He just barely managed to evade the blades as they crashed into the ground. To his amazement, Mitsurugi saw that Kratos had made a crater large enough to fit in a house.

Kratos pulled back his blades. "You want a fight so badly then I'll give you a fight! I will leave you as a bloody smear on the ground!" With a mighty leap, Kratos launched himself into the air, blades poised to impale Mitsurugi.

As he dodged out of the way, Mitsurugi felt his blood boil. This was it! He was finally going to get the fight he craved! After this, he would forever be the strongest in the world.

Mitsurugi charged at Kratos, his katana whistling through the air, aiming to take off Kratos's head. It was a lightning-fast blow, one that was almost impossible to block or dodge, but Kratos had faced beings far faster than this mortal man. With a savage swing of his left arm, he struck the katana blade, almost jarring it from Mitsurugi's grasp. He gasped in shock as he felt his arms go numb. He looked at Kratos; no one could be that strong!

Fighting against the encroaching numbness, Mitsurugi delivered a downward slash at Kratos, only to have it deflected and the blade trapped under Kratos's foot. Mitsurugi tried desperately to free his sword, but Kratos held it fast. With a snort of disdain, Kratos kneed Mitsurugi in the stomach.

The explosion of pain the samurai felt was beyond anything he had ever experienced before, bringing him to his knees. He coughed and a spurt of blood came out of his mouth. Mitsurugi tried to stand up, but the pain was too strong.

Kratos looked down at Mitsurugi with undisguised contempt. "So, this is the true power of the 'mighty Mitsurugi,'" he said. "Pathetic. You are nothing but a worthless insect."

"Look me in eye and say that," retorted Mitsurugi in a strained voice.

"Very well." With a low growl, Kratos clamped a hand on Mitsurugi's head, his fingers easily encircling it, and lifted him effortlessly off the ground until they were face to face.

Mitsurugi coughed up another globule of blood and groaned, "Go on. Get it over with, you freak."

"Oh I will," Kratos assured him. "But first I want you to know that I, Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta and slayer of the gods of Olympus, defeated you. Die with the knowledge that you entered a fight you had no chance of winning."

"Shut up and get on with it," snarled Mitsurugi, "unless you don't have the balls to finish what you started."

"Insolent worm!" Kratos howled. "You dare insult me further! The pain of your death will be beyond compare!" Kratos lifted one of his blades into the air, preparing to make good on his promise.

Then, unexpectedly, he heard a loud yell and felt a light impact on the side of his face, as though a fly had flown into it. Letting Mitsurugi drop to the ground, Kratos turned and saw, to his surprise a young woman. She was crouched low, one hand on a small dagger-like weapon sheathed on her back. She looked beautiful, but also deadly. She wore a surprised look on her face; her roundhouse kick had done nothing more than get Kratos's attention.

"You dare attack me when my back is turned?" Kratos demanded.

The woman recovered from her surprise and said, "I attack whenever I have an opportunity. My name is Taki, and I know that you seek the swords Soul Edge and Soul Calibur. That I cannot allow."

Kratos glowered menacingly at her. "Then you are just another obstacle in my path." He drew his Blades of Exile. "Anyone who stands in my way will be destroyed. I will show you no mercy."

"Nor will I," Taki returned.

With a roar, Kratos swung his blades at her. Taki nimbly avoided them and hurled a pair of shuriken at him. Kratos flung up the Golden Fleece and blocked them, but his defense had allowed for Taki to close in on him. Two short blades appeared in her hands and she struck at him with blinding speed. A normal warrior would have fallen under such an onslaught, but Kratos had sharpened his combat skills in battlefields of hellish proportions. His speed was equal to Taki's and blocked each strike and twice almost landed a killing blow.

Taki understood that she could not possibly win in a fair fight. But being a ninja means never fighting fairly. As she dodged another strike from Kratos, she dug her fingers into the ground and threw a dirt cloud into Kratos's face, effectively blinding him.

While Kratos was busy cleaning the dirt from his eyes, Taki took the opportunity to gather up her magic into an attack that she was sure would kill him. In her hands formed a crackling ball of energy. The moment it was ready Taki used it. Kratos cleaned his eyes just in time to see the magic attack hit him squarely in the chest. A tremendous explosion engulfed him for a full two seconds before receding to a great cloud of dust.

Panting heavily, Taki looked at the dust cloud with satisfaction; one less power-hungry warrior seeking the evil blades. Then the dust cleared, revealing, to Taki's horror, that Kratos was still very much alive. There was not even a scratch or bruise on him.

"Was that your best?" Kratos taunted. "I've survived far worse than that pitiful attempt."

Taki now realized that she could not hope to defeat Kratos. There was only one option left: retreat. Before Kratos could attack again, she detonated a flash bomb. Kratos grunted and shielded his eyes from the searing light. When it was over, Kratos looked around; Taki was gone, and so was Mitsurugi.

"Worthless cowards!" Kratos bellowed to empty air. "Flee for your miserable lives and know that should you cross my path again, you will die!"

There came no response. Kratos spat on the ground and trudged off; his task beckoned him.


	5. Chapter 5: A Dire Threat

Chapter 5

A Dire Threat

Taki finally came to rest in the middle of the forest, confident that she had given Kratos the slip. Carefully, she placed the now unconscious Mitsurugi on the ground.

"God, you're heavy," she grunted. Straightening him out, Taki placed a hand on the samurai's stomach and began to assess how much damage he had taken. A few seconds revealed how bad it was; just about every organ in his midsection was ruptured. If she did not act now, Mitsurugi would die.

Conjuring up her magic, Taki set about healing the most grievous injuries. Her last attack on Kratos had drained her greatly so she could not afford to waste what she had on injuries that were not life-threatening. It was delicate and painstaking work. Finally, an hour later, she finished; the samurai would not die, but he would still need days to fully recover.

Soon, Mitsurugi began to stir. His eyes cracked open, taking in his surroundings. "What…where am I?" he croaked. The last thing he remembered was Kratos about to kill him before slipping into darkness. Then, his eyes lighted upon Taki and they snapped open.

"You!"

Taki nodded patronizingly. "Yes, me."

Mitsurugi sat up. "How dare you—_augh_!" He clutched his stomach as his body was racked by pain.

"I would advise you not to move around much," Taki informed him. "I just finished healing you, and I don't want to see my hard work wasted. Oh, and you're welcome."

"I didn't need help!" Mitsurugi snarled between gasps. "Especially from you!"

Taki smiled thinly. "Really? The way I saw it, you did. Or was getting kicked around part of some plan that I failed to pick up on?"

"I underestimated him," Mitsurugi admitted grudgingly, a distinct note of sullenness in his voice. "But next time, the battle will be mine."

With difficulty, Taki resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "One of these days, that ego of yours is going to get you killed."

"Then I will die a warrior's death!" Mitsurugi snapped. "This Kratos is the most powerful opponent I have ever faced, and I will challenge him again! Honor demands that one of us must be declared the victor! Of course, I wouldn't expect a _ninja_ to understand something involving honor."

Taki was now becoming very irritated with the samurai's chest-thumping. "You will die a fool's death if you challenge Kratos again," she told him coldly. "When I fought him, I hit him with a magic spell powerful enough to reduce a man to ash. Kratos wasn't even fazed."

That last statement caused Mitsurugi to lose a good deal of bluster. Though he did not even remotely like Taki, he still acknowledged her formidable magical abilities and fighting skills. Nothing in the world could have taken the full force of one of her attacks and not even get a scratch.

"You can't be serious," Mitsurugi declared. "I can't believe that he just shrugged off something like that."

"I have never been more serious," Taki responded sharply. "What's more, I've heard rumors that he killed Cervantes."

Now Mitsurugi was astonished. Cervantes had been an opponent that even he had been reluctant to face. He also knew that Taki had once clashed with the undead pirate and, even though he had been severely weakened, she had almost lost. A fully-empowered Cervantes would have been next to unstoppable.

"How is that possible? There is no one in the world that powerful."

Taki stared off into the distance. "I don't think he's from this world, or even this reality."

"What makes you say that?" asked Mitsurugi.

Taki turned towards him. "Do you remember when he called himself the Ghost of Sparta and the slayer of the gods of Olympus?"

"Vaguely," Mitsurugi said. What he remembered most was the ungodly pain of having most of his organs ripped apart.

"Well, I've never heard of any 'Ghost of Sparta' before in my life, and the Olympians are still very much alive. The only way this man could all of a sudden just pop out of nowhere was if he came from another dimension."

Mitsurugi let out a bark of laughter. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, I do," retorted Taki. "And if it's true that Kratos actually did kill of all of his gods, then we are all in serious trouble."

"Why?"

"Kratos is after Soul Edge and Soul Calibur. We've both witnessed how powerful he is. Can you imagine how much stronger he would become if he actually claimed both swords?"

Truthfully, Mitsurugi could not, nor did he want to. Though he was reluctant to admit it, they needed to help each other stop Kratos from acquiring the blades.

"So, what's the plan? Do we take him on together?"

Taki let out a hollow laugh. "Even if we were at our absolute strongest, Kratos would tear us both apart. No, we're going to need help."

"So what are you suggesting?" asked Mitsurugi. "That we form a whole damn army to stop him?"

Taki nodded. "Something like that. I think its time we visited some old friends."


	6. Chapter 6: The Blades of Oblivion

Chapter 6 

The Blades of Oblivion

Kratos's frustration knew no bounds. Since his encounter with Taki and Mitsurugi, he had traveled for days uncounted and seemed no closer to his destination than when he had first come to this dimension. The lands all looked the same; just trees and sprawling grasslands as far as the eye could see.

Finally, after entering an abandoned village, his frustration built up to a level in which it could no longer be contained. A ramshackle house caught his eye; with one mighty blow, Kratos leveled the building.

Then he heard a voice, slithering and cold:

"My, my. Aren't we the violent one?"

Kratos spun around, blades poised to attack. He saw a dark-skinned man, clothed in white robes smiling at him with condescension. One of his eyes was gold, ringed by a black mark. In his right hand was a scythe, held casually, but Kratos could see that it could be made ready to attack at a moment's notice. An air of self-confidence surrounded him, such that he did not have to swagger about and brag to get it across. A single glance would suffice to show anyone that he could fight and, more importantly, he could win.

"Who are you?" Kratos demanded with a scowl fierce enough to make a lion quiver in fright.

The man was unperturbed by Kratos's threatening posture and responded coolly, "I am Zasalamel. And you must be Kratos."

A look of surprise flickered across Kratos's face. "You know of me?"

Zasalamel let out a chuckle. "Of course I know of you, or more precisely, the stories of you. A man with skin paler than a full moon's glow and with the strength of an army." He stared at Kratos with a calculating look. "Is it true that you killed Cervantes?"

"It is."

Zasalamel gave a small smirk. "I suppose that is an impressive feat…for a novice."

"That undead creature was nothing," Kratos declared. "If you wish to see what I am truly capable of, it would be my pleasure to show you."

Zasalamel let out another chuckle, this time a little longer. "Ah, Kratos. Your defiance is admirable. Foolish, but admirable. We both walk the same path, you and I. We both bear a curse that we desire more than anything to be lifted."

"I care nothing for _your_ curse," Kratos sneered.

"And I care nothing for yours," Zasalamel returned. "For too long I have walked this world. Too long have been denied the peace all others enjoy." He pointed his scythe at Kratos. "To that end, I will have the swords Soul Edge and Soul Calibur. You stand in my way; therefore, only one of us will be able to claim them. The other will die here."

"So be it," said Kratos. "I have no intention of letting you claim the swords. I will destroy you, here and now!"

Zasalamel grinned in eager anticipation. Adopting a fighting stance of his own, he said, "Come, then. Show me if the rumors about you are true."

Kratos needed no further encouragement; his blades once more formed their lethal cyclone of metal and with a snap of his arms, Kratos brought them down, intending to obliterate Zasalamel where he stood.

As Zasalamel braced himself for the incoming attack, the unexpected happened. The Blades of Exile suddenly lost their glow and plummeted harmlessly down to the ground; Kratos watched in shock as the chains around his arms slipped off and landed at his feet.

Zasalamel too looked on in surprise. Then, his lips curved into a wicked, gloating smile. "It would seem that fate is against you, my friend. Perhaps you would care to surrender?"

Kratos looked up from his hands and glared at Zasalamel. "Spartans do not know the meaning of surrender."

"Don't be a fool. You are without a weapon. You cannot hope to defeat me with only your own two hands."

"That is where you are wrong. I can and will defeat you using my bare hands."

This time, Zasalamel burst out into great gales of laughter. Truly, this man was the most arrogant person he had ever met. Defeat him, one who had walked the earth for hundreds of lifetimes and learned more than any other could, without a weapon? The idea was beyond absurd.

"So, you wish to cast you life away?" demanded Zasalamel. "Very well. I have plenty of time to spare. Let us play." No sooner had the words left his mouth when Zasalamel launched himself at Kratos, scythe ready to deal death with one fell swing.

Kratos in turn charged towards Zasalamel. The scythe whistled through the air, ready to make contact with his head. Kratos ducked under the swing and as Zasalamel brought it back around to strike again, Kratos grabbed hold of its shaft, halting it in midair and, try as he might, Zasalamel could not move his weapon an inch. He might as well have been trying to pull it free from welded steel.

With a snort of contempt, Kratos seized Zasalamel by the throat, hoisting him into the air with no more effort than lifting up a sack of feathers. Gasping for air, Zasalamel tried to pry Kratos's fingers loose with one hand while trying vainly to free his scythe with the other. Kratos let Zasalamel struggle for a bit, then wrenched the scythe from his grasp and hurled him away. Even though Kratos had not put that much effort into it, Zasalamel still bounced three times before skidding to a halt thirty yards away.

Zasalamel's countless years of experience saved his life; upon being thrown into the air, he rolled himself into a ball and twisted his body so that the impact of him hitting the ground would be minimized. Had he taken the full force of the impact, he would have at the very least been severely mangled. Nevertheless, he still received a number of injuries, some superficial, others not so much.

Gasping and clambering shakily to his feet, Zasalamel realized that he had underestimated his opponent. If Kratos still had his blades, Zasalamel did not doubt that he would have been dead the minute the battle had started.

"It would seem that the rumors of your strength are true!" Zasalamel cried, trying not to show Kratos how much he had shaken him up. "Impressive. I had not expected such power or speed from you."

"Your flattery will not stop me from destroying you!" Kratos declared, walking towards Zasalamel, intent on finishing him off.

Zasalamel held up his hands as Kratos neared him, as though he were trying to surrender. "It is not flattery, but simply respect for you. Which is why I feel a modicum of regret about killing you."

"Kill me?" Kratos asked in disbelief. "You are unarmed and outmatched. How exactly do you intend to kill me?"

Zasalamel gave Kratos an evil smile. "Like this." His eyes flickered back to his scythe, which Kratos had tossed aside. Zasalamel beckoned with a finger and the scythe flew into the air and sped towards Kratos's unprotected back. At the last possible second, Kratos ducked and the scythe sailed over his head. Zasalamel reclaimed his weapon and delivered several rapid slashes at Kratos; caught off guard from almost being cloven in half by the scythe, he barely managed to either avoid or block them and staggered back a few steps.

With a flourish, Zasalamel planted the end of his scythe squarely in the dirt and smirked at Kratos. "Relying on strength alone will not avail you. You need skill in order to use that strength effectively."

"Why don't I show you how effectively I can use my strength?" Kratos growled.

Zasalamel rolled his mismatched eyes. "Oh please, spare me the threats. I know everything there is to know about fighting. Nothing you do will help you."

"You may have great experience," snarled Kratos, straightening up, "but I have fought for my life since I was a child!" Like back in his Spartan training days, Kratos adopted a wrestling stance.

Zasalamel shook his head in a patronizing manner. "So, you still will not see reason. Very well; if death is what you seek, then that is what you shall receive."

In unison, the two opponents charged at each other. When he came within range, Zasalamel swung his scythe, aiming to sever Kratos's head. With reflexes born of endless battles, Kratos deflected the blow with the Golden Fleece and seized Zasalamel in a bear hug. Like an unstoppable battering ram, Kratos plowed Zasalamel into the walls of several houses before hurling him onto his back. Groaning Zasalamel put his weight onto his scythe, trying to hoist himself up. Never one to pass up an opening, Kratos bull-rushed Zasalamel and his shoulder connected squarely with Zasalamel's sternum.

Zasalamel felt as though he had just been struck by a herd of rampaging bulls. Surely every bone in his chest was shattered. As he flew through the air, Zasalamel felt himself enter a state of calm. No longer did he feel pain, even when he crashed into the earth again. Death, once again, was coming to claim him.

Through dimming eyes, Zasalamel beheld Kratos slowly walking towards him. "I…lost?" he choked, breath out coming in ragged, wheezing gasps. "How could I lose?"

"You lost because you are inferior," Kratos growled. "Spartans live and breathe battle. Your reserves of experience may have allowed you to best your other opponents, but my people have perfected the art of war."

Zasalamel glared up at Kratos. "If you want to hear me beg for my life, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. Death holds no fear for me. I have walked down that path time and time again. Rest assured, _Spartan_, I will be back. I will find you, and then I will make you pay!"

"Should that day come, remember that this will be the fate you will suffer." With that, Kratos raised his foot over Zasalamel's head and brought it down.

Kratos turned away from the corpse of Zasalamel and went back to his Blades of Exile. They remained dull hunks of metal; whatever power Ziradus had bestowed upon them was gone, and Kratos wanted an explanation.

"Ziradus!" he yelled. "Show yourself!"

Within seconds, Ziradus answered his call. This time, though, he did not appear as a ghostly apparition, but in his solid corporeal form. He bore a greatly annoyed look as he said, "No need to shout, I was already on my way."

Ignoring Ziradus, Kratos picked up one of the blades by its chain and shook it in front of his face. "What happened? Why did my weapons lose their power?"

Ziradus sighed. "Yes, well, I thought this might happen."

"You _thought_ this would happen?" demanded Kratos in outraged tones. "Why did you not warn me that my blades could lose their power?"

Ziradus shrugged. "In all honesty, it was an experiment. You see, the main reason I cannot go after the swords myself is because their power affects this entire realm. As a result, my powers enter a state of constant flux. One minute they work fine, the next I'm powerless. You can imagine how inconvenient that would be, if I was in a fight with someone like Taki and I was suddenly robbed of my powers." He gestured toward the blade Kratos held. "I wanted to see if a weapon empowered by me could resist the swords' effects. Clearly, it will not."

"So, you sent me here, knowing that my weapons could fail me at any moment!" Kratos raged. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

Ziradus smirked at Kratos. "Surely you exaggerate. After all, you destroyed Zasalamel with little effort, and he was a most troublesome individual, what with his powers of reincarnation." Seeing Kratos about to erupt again, Ziradus added, "But I suppose I can't expect you to face down Siegfried and Nightmare without a proper weapon, can I?"

Ziradus held up a hand and, in a bright flash of light, a small crystal hovered over his palm. It was colored black and purple and the patterns in it swirled around with a life of their own. It radiated a malevolent aura.

Smiling, Ziradus said to Kratos, "This is a Maledictus Crystal. Within this little thing, there exists untold raw, chaotic power. On its own, the crystal is useless, but when combined with an object, such as a weapon, it will imbue it with its power. Let's see what happens."

With an absent gesture, Ziradus made the crystal float over the powerless Blades of Exile. Instantly, twin bolts of violet lightning sprung from the crystal and connected with the blades. They were lifted into the air and a vortex of lavender energy began to swirl them around and around.

Kratos watched in fascination as the vortex swirled ever faster. Then, in a blinding flash and a tremendous thunder-crack, his blades reappeared. Once again, they had changed: The blades now shined bright violet and jutted from the screaming maw of some tormented creature that served as its hilt. The chains fastened themselves back onto their master's arms and the hilts found their way back into his hands, ready to once more slash and rend all in their path.

"Kratos, Ghost of Sparta, these are the Blades of Oblivion!" Ziradus proclaimed in exultation.

Kratos studied the new blades; he could feel their power, pulsing as though they had their own heartbeat. These were truly weapons worthy of his skill.

Ziradus looked as though he had reached Nirvana. The look on his face was nothing short of pure ecstasy. "Go now, Ghost of Sparta! Go, and send all who stand before you into the dark abyss! Let their screams of terror fill the air and their blood flow in rivers!" He burst out into mad gales of laughter and slowly faded, his cackles echoing even after he disappeared.

Sheathing his new blades, Kratos resumed his quest. Now nothing would stand against him!


	7. Chapter 7: Shadows and Blades

Chapter 7

Shadows and Blades

The assassins hurried through the night, wisps of shadows under the pale moonlight that filtered through the canopy of the forest. Their footsteps made no sounds even though they ran in hard leather boots. Each one carried with him a Chinese sword, the trademark of their brotherhood, along with a few other implements of death.

These, however, were not ordinary assassins; these were the Ten Shades of Death. Throughout the world, no other collection of individuals inspired more fear than they. Infamous for their almost supernatural martial prowess and lethality, these assassins were considered to be the Grim Reaper's personal envoys, even by their own brothers. All ten had slain hundreds and never once failed a mission. Just one was more than a match for any man.

But their target was no ordinary man.

When they had been called before the Grandmaster, the Ten Shades of Death were surprised that they were given the same mission. Who could possibly require their combined efforts to be brought to an end? In answer, the Grandmaster stated that they were to kill the one called Kratos.

The assassins' brotherhood was far-reaching; nothing happened without them knowing about it. They were present everywhere, from the most remote places to the most secretive organizations. Even Fygul Cestemus, the cult dedicated to the servitude of Ares, had members of the brotherhood hidden in its midst. When the brotherhood had first heard of Kratos, a man with unearthly pale skin and the strength to rival gods, they initially dismissed him as a man whom rumors had exaggerated. But soon, they came to realize that those rumors were far from wild imaginings. Thus, the Grandmaster decided that Kratos was too dangerous to let live.

Tracking him had not been difficult; Kratos had left a trail of destruction almost everywhere he went. It was almost as if he was daring anyone to try and come after him. It was this blatant fearlessness that caused the Ten Shades of Death to quickly develop a healthy respect for him.

The Ten Shades of Death continued to run through the trees until the leader signaled for them to stop. Ahead, barely twenty feet away, was Kratos. He was propped up against a wide trunk, apparently fast asleep. Even slouched over, it was easy to tell that he would tower over them all.

The assassins knew that this would probably be their only chance to strike. Normally, they challenged their intended victims to a fight to the death so that they could die with honor, but Kratos was too far out of their league to be afforded such treatment. His immense scars were a clear warning that he would not die easily.

The leader of the Ten Shades of Death motioned to his brothers that he would make the first move. With deliberate slowness, he drew his blade and tiptoed over to the sleeping Kratos. As he did, sweat began to bead upon his face to be soaked up by the fabric encircling his head. This was the only time he had ever felt fear.

Once he reached Kratos, the assassin inverted his blade for a downward stab. Kratos grunted and the assassin froze in place like a living statue. For ten full seconds, he did not even twitch. Then, satisfied that Kratos would not wake, he narrowed his eyes and plunged his blade down.

Before the blade was halfway to its destination, Kratos's eyes snapped open and his right hand caught the blade. Its edge was sharp enough to cut through even the finest plate armor, but it did not even budge a centimeter in Kratos's hand, no matter how hard the assassin pushed.

With deliberate slowness, Kratos stood up, the blade still rendered immobile by his grasp. "Spartans never let their guard down," he informed the terrified assassin. With his other hand, Kratos grabbed hold of his opponent's shrouded face and squeezed; the resulting mutilation was clear even underneath the encircling fabric. The lifeless corpse of the leader of the Ten Shades of Death slumped down to Kratos's feet.

The remaining assassin's looked on in utter shock; their leader had been the finest out of all of them, and this ghostly man had killed him without an effort at all! If their leader could not defeat this man, what hope did they have? But honor demanded that they face Kratos. Drawing their own swords, they advanced towards him, weaving their blades around them in complex flourishes. The Ten Shades of Death now encircled Kratos, cutting off any avenue of escape.

. Escape, though, was far from Kratos's mind.

Gripping the lead assassin's sword in both hands, he broke it in half and drew his Blades of Oblivion. Calmly, he gazed out at the assassins surrounding him, daring them to make a move. They obliged; with loud _kiais_ they struck as one, hoping to overwhelm Kratos with sheer numbers.

Kratos reacted with the instinct born from a life of battle. Bellowing, he lashed out with his blades, dismembering five assassins in the span of less than a minute. Whipping the chains around his head, Kratos decapitated another assassin who had tried to strike at him from behind.

Now, only three remained. Kratos spat on the ground and sheathed his blades, showing quite plainly that he viewed them to be not worthy of his blades. All three were thoroughly stung by the insult, but one took it particularly personally. Screeching in fury, he struck at Kratos with abandon. Without showing even a flicker of emotion, Kratos caught the assassin by his wrist and tore off the whole arm. He then pulled the sword from the severed limb and plunged it through his opponents head.

The last two struck in unison, desperately, viciously.

Futilely.

Kratos grabbed one by the back of his neck and twisted it until the head was facing backwards. The other he caught by the leg and swung him into the air before smashing him into the ground with such force that the assassin's entire top half exploded, leaving only his lower body intact.

Thus, the Ten Shades of Death, the heralds of doom, were no more.

Kratos tossed the bottom half of the assassin aside and surveyed the carnage with grim satisfaction. Fully awake, he decided that it was time to resume his journey. Without even a backward glace, Kratos left the bodies of his assailants for the scavengers. They would serve as a warning to all that those who stood in his way would receive no mercy.


	8. Chapter 8: Alliances Made

Chapter 8

Alliances Made

Maxi and Xianghua watched as Kilik went on with his daily exercises. In his hands, Kilik's staff was more than just a weapon; it was an extension of himself.

Maxi shook his head. "Man, where does he get all that energy? He's been at it for almost two hours."

Xianghua shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows? Kilik's always been this way; he's something of a perfectionist. The Edge Master really left an impression on him."

"Well, he's making me tired just by looking at him." Maxi took a swig from a canteen.

"Maybe you should take notes from him."

Maxi spat out the water he had been drinking and Xianghua jumped almost a foot into the air. Whirling around, weapons in hand, they were shocked to find Taki standing only a few feet away.

"_Why do you that_?" Xianghua demanded. "Can't you just say 'hello' like a normal person?"

"That's not my style," replied Taki matter-of-factly. "Don't worry; I'm not here to fight. You can both put away your weapons."

"Call me paranoid, but I'd feel safer having mine ready," Maxi said.

"Trust me, if I wanted to kill the two of you, I wouldn't have bothered showing myself. I'd have just severed your spinal cords at the back of your skulls."

Maxi and Xianghua simultaneously reached for the back of their heads. Though they knew Taki's claim was true, neither of them relaxed. The ninja was an enigma to all; at one point she'd be your ally and at another, she'd be trying to kill you for reasons known only to her.

"Okay, if you're not after us, then why are you here?" asked Xianghua.

Taki took a deep breath and said, "I need your help." It sounded almost painful for her to say.

Maxi snorted with laughter. "You need our help? Okay, now I've heard everything."

At this point, Kilik had noticed his companions talking with Taki. Curious, he walked over; he held his rod in what appeared to be a relaxed grip, but he was far from off guard. Glancing at Xianghua, he asked, "What's going on?"

The ever-cheerful woman smirked at Kilik. "It seems as though the mighty demon huntress needs the help of us lowly mortals."

"Yeah," Maxi added. "Guess she ain't as sharp as she used to be."

Taki glared daggers at the impertinent man. "Do you want to have children someday? If you keep up with your wisecracks, you're going to have a very hard time making that happen."

"Whoa, easy there," said Maxi, holding up his hands. "No need to get all aggressive."

"Then kindly act like you have a brain underneath that ridiculous hair."

Maxi appeared highly offended by that comment. "Hey, I'll have you know that my hair drives girls crazy!"

Kilik, afraid that what was for now only banter would escalate, stepped in. "What is it you need our help with?"

Taki favored Kilik with a gaze that was two parts appreciative and one part condescending. It was obvious that she considered all three companions to be novices in the face of the real world.

"Do any of you know of Kratos?"

"Not really," answered Kilik. "We don't listen that much to gossip."

"Well then, allow me to fill you in on him. Basically, he's a relentless killing machine after Soul Edge and Soul Calibur."

"So what?" asked Xianghua. "He doesn't sound like anyone special."

"I'm asking you for help! Doesn't that say anything about him?"

The three companions exchanged glances. Taki made a good point; never before had she ever asked for help from anyone. She preferred to work alone, believing that having someone tag along would only hinder her. This Kratos must truly be a powerful man if Taki was being forced to seek assistance.

After a moment of silence, Kilik spoke up. "Say we agree to help you. How much of a chance would we stand against him?"

"Better than alone," was Taki's evasive answer. She wasn't about to let them know how badly outclassed they'd be. Maxi and Kilik probably wouldn't last more than a minute against Kratos with their weapons, Xianghua only a little longer at best. The most they'd be able to do would be distracting him.

Kilik motioned for his friends to come with him. Stopping a distance away, they huddled together to come to a decision.

"Well, what do you think?" Maxi asked. "We're being asked to throw ourselves into a freakin' fire here."

"He's got a point," Xianghua said. "This Kratos guy sounds like really bad news."

"Yes," Kilik agreed. "If we agree to this, it's likely we won't live through it. But if he manages to get both swords, then everyone in the world could be in trouble." He straightened up. "I'm going. If I have to give up my life to keep the world safe, then so be it. You two can do what you want."

"Hey, I'm not leaving you to go off on your own!" exclaimed Xianghua. "I'm gonna stick to you like glue."

Maxi cracked a cocky grin. "Ah, hell, I never really planned on dying of old age. Why not? We've done crazier things than fight against some super powerful badass."

Kilik smiled; he knew that he friends would never abandon him, no matter the odds. He walked back to Taki and said, "You have our aid. Whatever may come, we'll be there."

Taki gave Kilik a respectful nod. "Thank you. Now, get ready to leave. There are still some more people to find before we face Kratos."

A ways off, Mitsurugi was resting against a large rock in a sullen mood. Since he still was not fully recovered, Taki had ordered him to rest while she went ahead. "A ninja commanding a samurai," he muttered. "Somewhere in the world, a farmer is watching his pigs take flight."

"And here I thought you couldn't get any more ungrateful."

Mitsurugi ground his teeth. He hated it whenever Taki did that; always sneaking up behind him without a sound. Actually, it was the fact that he could never detect her that needled him. It was a real sucker-punch to his pride knowing that, should she ever choose to, Taki could take him down and he wouldn't even be able to fight back.

"So, how did it go?" he asked, quelling his irritation.

"They're willing to help," replied Taki.

The samurai raised an eyebrow. "Just like that? No 'Are you insane' comments?"

"No. Nothing."

Mitsurugi's eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell them everything, did you?"

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that he took one of your magic attacks and didn't even get a scratch! Or the fact that he is stronger than any mortal man could ever be! Did you tell them that?"

Taki shrugged. "They didn't need to know."

"The hell they didn't!" Mitsurugi snarled. "They have absolutely no idea what they're getting themselves into!"

Taki crossed her arms and assumed an authoritative stance. "What should I have told them? That their chances of survival would be almost nonexistent? I can't afford to be completely honest; Kratos is beyond my abilities and I need all the help I can get." She turned and said in a somewhat downcast voice, "He cannot be allowed to acquire the swords, and if that means sacrifices must be made, then so be it."

Mitsurugi shook his head in disgust. "I should have expected this; you really are a conniving bitch. These are people's lives you're playing with, and you don't even want to be truly honest about what they face? How can you live with yourself?"

Taki whipped around and shouted, "I 'can live with myself' because I know that what I do saves the lives of countless others! I don't enjoy the methods that I am forced to use, but I will use them if need be!"

"You won't be saving any lives by keeping them in the dark about Kratos!" Mitsurugi shot back. "If they have no idea what his true capabilities are, then all you'll be doing is dooming them to be slaughtered, and that will gain you _nothing_. If, however, they _do_ know what he's capable of then we all stand a better chance of stopping him."

Taki turned her back on the samurai again, her stance making it obvious to Mitsurugi that she didn't want to talk anymore.

"Fine," he snapped. "Tell them or don't, it doesn't matter to me. But just remember what I said: keeping them ignorant will only lead to disaster." With that, he lurched to his feet and walked off, leaving the ninja to wrestle with her conscience.

"Resourceful little bitch, aren't you?" Ziradus crooned. Having grown bored watching Kratos he had decided to observe Taki for a time to find out what she had been doing after her confrontation with his champion.

If there was one person in all existence Ziradus hated the most, it was Taki. For many years, she had unknowingly thwarted his attempts to acquire the swords. Kratos had not been the first he had sent after the swords; many others had been sent before him, and each time the meddlesome ninja had put an end to them. Oh, how it infuriated him. One of Ziradus's fondest wishes was to inflict a creatively agonizing death on her, something he resolved to do once Soul Edge and Soul Calibur were his.

This time, she would not stop him. Kratos had already proven to be far more than she could handle. What would a few more mere mortals do against him? Let her gather as many fighters as she wanted, it would not matter. Kratos would kill them all!

Ziradus cackled with glee. Oh, what a glorious bloodbath it would be!


	9. Chapter 9: Servant of the Gods

Chapter 9

Servant of the Gods

Kratos was now thoroughly perplexed with this realm he was in. Back in his own world, those who were powerful were given proper respect; they were not beings to be trifled with and only someone who was very skilled or had a death wish would even think about challenging them. In this world, it seemed, the inhabitants viewed someone who was immensely mighty as a prime target that could bring to them glory and status.

Kratos's reputation had indeed traveled far if the amount of challengers that sought him out were anything to judge by. It seemed as though every other day, some fool who could swing a blade and wanted to make a name for himself would come up to him and demand that Kratos face him in combat. Apparently, they regarded the tales of Kratos's strength as exaggerations that could not possibly be true. Of course, none of them had been capable of posing a threat to the Ghost of Sparta and usually died within a single minute. They were irritations, nothing more.

Kratos looked down at his latest victim, a strapping young man with dark brown hair and an ornately designed saber clutched in his now lifeless hand. His once elegant and clearly expensive clothes were now marred with his blood. His formerly handsome features were now disfigured by the mixture of blank shock and agony now permanently frozen on his face.

The young man had carried himself with an air of nobility and entitlement, pompously declaring himself to be a master swordsman unequaled in all the lands. What he really had been was as an overly-adventurous spoiled brat that had learned a few fancy sword tricks in a risk-free environment, had only fought against a small-time thug and a few rowdy drunks and, with an ego worthy of a god, thought he could take on the world single-handedly. Naturally, with this sense of invincibility, he decided to go out and pick a fight with the most dangerous stone-cold killer in existence. And Kratos happened to fit the bill quite nicely.

He didn't even last ten seconds; in the middle of a rambling monologue of how great a warrior he was and how he was going to utterly trounce him, Kratos became severely annoyed and promptly slashed his throat open.

Kratos now looked at the Blade of Oblivion in his right hand, which still dripped with the unfortunate fool's blood. "How many more of these flies do I have to slaughter before they stop bothering me?" he wondered aloud. The constant demands by fame-seeking warriors for a fight were slowing him down in his quest to acquire the two swords. This poor excuse for a fighter would not be the last; Kratos knew that many more would try and best him in order to prove that they were the best.

With a fierce scowl, Kratos sheathed his blades. Let them come. All who stood in his way would die.

Siegerstadt was not the friendliest of cities. In fact, it was one of the most dangerous places in the world. The city played host to a collection of mercenary thugs, brutal crime lords, and psychopathic kill-for-fun sadists, making for a thoroughly wretched place to call home. Though it was technically under the jurisdiction of the Holy Roman Empire, no vestige of Imperial authority existed within its walls. The city may be a veritable hive of human degenerates who would kill the person next to them for a piece of copper, but if need be they could rally together and form a horde that few soldiers would willingly walk into. To that end, the Empire decided that to take the city would not be worth the effort.

And yet, Sophitia walked its alleys as though they were as the ones in Athens.

A pretty young woman like her would not be expected to last long; with her long blonde hair and alluring figure, it was a guarantee that some vile beast of a man would want to satisfy his carnal urges on her or some high-up crime lord would imprison her in one of the many brothels in Siegerstadt. A week would be her expected life-expectancy; a month would be very generous.

Sophitia, however, was not some delicate flower waiting to be plucked. She was a kind and caring person, but if someone decided to fight her, he was going to get more than he bargained for. A few of the inhabitants learned that the hard way. One such individual, fueled by booze and hubris, tried to violate her. He ended up with a crushed skull, courtesy of a single well-placed blow from her shield. Soon, the would-be aggressors of the city came to learn that this tempting morsel of a woman would be more trouble than was worth it.

Sophitia was indeed highly skilled in the ways of the sword, but even to the casual onlooker, she would appear out of place in Siegerstadt. A compassionate, beautiful woman walking amongst some of the most despicable scum that blighted the world was not something anyone would expect to see. Sophitia herself did not want to be in this hellhole of a city. So why was she?

In answer, a higher power had sent her here. The gods she served were scared; it had come to their attention that a man named Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, had come to their realm. They knew full well that he had almost single-handedly wiped out his own gods, mirror images of themselves, and were now terrified that they would be next. They also knew that he sought the cursed blade Soul Edge as well as the so-called holy blade Soul Calibur; why, they did not know, but nevertheless had no intention of letting Kratos obtain them.

In spite of all their power, none wanted to face Kratos. To that end, Sophitia had been called upon to do away with Kratos. Of course, they neglected to mention how powerful he really was. Ignorance, after all, was bliss; they thought it best she did not know how low her chances of victory were. True, Sophitia was a loyal servant, one of the best the gods had ever had, but she was still only a servant. Better a thousand mortals perish than a single god, as far as the gods were concerned. Kratos had to be eliminated, no matter the cost.

Sophitia entered a tavern, filled with numerous armed ruffians, drinking and gambling the day away. When she entered, a few patrons gave her lustful leers, but they knew better than to try anything. Her reputation as a beautiful but dangerous woman had long been circulated and acknowledged. Calmly she sat down at a vacant table and ordered a cup of water.

As she sipped her drink, Sophitia began to think about her task. She knew almost nothing about this Kratos. All she did know was that the gods wanted him gone and that she was to wait for him to arrive at Siegerstadt. Sophitia had been waiting nearly three days for him and now she was beginning to wonder of the gods had misled her.

_No_, she thought firmly. _The gods have always lent me their guidance when I needed it. They would not abandon me_.

Suddenly, the tavern's door slammed open and a local gangster rushed in. He was thoroughly spooked; he looked as if he had just witnessed his own death. "It's him!" he gibbered in a squeaky voice. "He's here! He's here!"

A few of the patrons looked over at the gangster in annoyance. "What the hell are you talking about?" one of them called.

"It's him!" he exclaimed again. "He was huge, with skin paler than a corpse! And he had these two swords hanging across his back! Looked like they'd been forged in hell itself!"

Now the patrons were becoming interested. They began muttering amongst themselves. Sophitia listened in on a nearby group.

"Did he say skin paler than death?" a man with an eye closed by two vertical scars asked.

"Yeah, he did," another man said. "Make no mistake, that's Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta."

"God in heaven," the one-eyed man whispered. "I heard he's one cold-blooded son of a bitch. Didn't he kill Cervantes?"

"No, he _destroyed_ him," said a third. "Cervantes didn't even get to land a blow. I also heard he took down a bunch of assassins. Not just any old assassins, mind you, but some real heavy-hitters. The kind that can kill a man with one finger jabbed into the right place. And that's not even counting all the other dumb bastards that tried their luck on him. I wouldn't fight him if it would save my soul."

Sophitia's interest was now roused. If these rumors were anything to go by, then Kratos was perhaps the most powerful opponent she would ever face. She remembered her encounter with Cervantes; if it hadn't been for Taki, she would have died. Yet the way these thugs talked about him, it sounded as though Kratos barely put any effort into killing the undead pirate.

Was she intimidated? Of course. Only a complete fool would not be, facing such a monumentally strong opponent.

A majority of the patrons, however, did not seem to share that sensibility. One such individual, a massive ape of a man with a giant axe clutched in his mammoth hands stood up. Having overheard the three men's conversation, he strode over to their table and slammed his axe head onto its head.

"What a bunch of gutless whores you three are!" he roared in a deep bass voice. "Just wait; I'll show him what a real fighter can do! My axe is going to split that freak in half!"

"You won't get the chance," another, more wiry, man declared. "My knife is going to go through his eye before you can even swing that oversized tree-chopper." He twirled a thin stiletto in his right hand to enforce his point.

Throughout the tavern, more hot-blooded brutes spoke up, all declaring that they would be the one to kill Kratos. Each bout of voracious chest-thumping became steadily more violent. If this kept up, none of them would be able to fight Kratos; they'd be too busy trying to kill each other.

Sophitia looked over at the barkeep, a man of modest height and light build. He seemed to be indifferent to the outbursts, calmly cleaning a clay mug.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The barkeep paused his cleaning and gave Sophitia a blank look. "Yes?"

"Who is this Kratos everyone keeps talking about?"

The man smirked. "Oh, he's one of the many legends popular here. I could spend all day telling you about all the feats he's supposedly capable of and who he's killed. Beating Kratos is something every two-bit swordsman around here dreams about."

"And what do you think?"

"Me? I'm a realist. There's no way that half the crap I've heard about him is true, if he even exists. Personally, I think he's just another one of those myths that keep cropping up, like undead pirates and golems and all that other mystical shit."

A sudden crash attracted the barkeep's attention. The man with the axe had just smashed some other patron into a table, shattering it. "How's that for a 'brainless ox'!" he bellowed.

The man who had been lying in the middle of the newly created pile of wood got to his feet. Surprisingly, he was quite steady. It looked as though the impact had barely done anything to him. "At best, mediocre," he replied smugly. "If you want to see how it's really done, I'd be happy to show you. Of course, you probably would survive my demonstration."

"Enough!" the barkeep shouted. "If you want to fight, take it outside!"

It looked as though the two brawlers would do just that. Before they could, heavy footsteps suddenly sounded from outside the tavern. The spooked gangster squealed, "Oh, God, he's coming!" and hid underneath one of the tables.

With a slight push, the door opened and Kratos walked in.

Immediately, the atmosphere of the tavern changed. Every patron who had initially been boasting about how he would be the one to take down Kratos now felt his blood run cold at the sight of him. Towering over all, Kratos radiated an aura of power and killer intent. His glower dared anyone to try fight him; no one did. All the cockiness that had been present in these men had completely evaporated. Their senses of self-preservation had now taken over.

Unopposed, Kratos stepped up to the bar. The barkeep's expression was one of shock and horror. Shock that the man rumors spoke of was real, horror that those rumors were all true. Whereas before he had taken them to be flights of fancy, one look at Kratos was enough to make him believe every rumor.

Kratos's glare bore into the barkeep. "Wine. Now."

The man had been faced with many an ogre, but none of them could hold a candle to Kratos. The barkeep felt he would rather drown himself than dare try to stare down this beast of a man. Without a word he filled the mug he had been cleaning to the brim with the best wine he had and handed it to Kratos.

"Uh—that will be one silver piece," he said, before adding, "Please."

Kratos stared down at the barman with a look that promised death to anyone who angered him. Just as the barman was about to tell him to forget paying, Kratos transferred his gaze to the man with the axe. It took all his willpower not to soil himself when the Ghost of Sparta's eyes met his.

Kratos then jerked his head towards the barkeep, a silent order for the axe man to pay him. For a moment, fear left the burly thug and it looked like he was about to make good on his pledge to fight Kratos. Then, Kratos's eyes narrowed dangerously and the man decided to swallow his pride and pay for the drink. Without taking his gaze off of Kratos, he reached into a pouch on his belt and slid a silver coin towards the barman.

Once the transaction was complete, Kratos downed the wine in a single gulp. Slamming the mug down, Kratos slowly turned around, sweeping the gathered ruffians with his fiery glare. Everyone tensed up; some reached for their weapons, others just stayed perfectly still. All silently prayed to whatever deity was listening that they would make it out alive.

Kratos continued to glower at the crowd of people, searching for any hint of hostility. He found none; all he saw was a collection of cowards who only wanted to live to see the sun rise again. Without a word, Kratos left the tavern. As one, the patrons sank down, dizzy with relief.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Sophitia had watched in fascination. Kratos had effectively reduced an entire room of vicious cutthroats to frightened children simply by being in their presence. He did not even have to draw his weapons. It was obvious to her that Kratos was no ordinary man. Sophitia knew that she was about to face off against what was perhaps the most dangerous opponent she had ever faced.

All she could do was trust in the gods.

Kratos knew he was being followed. He had known since he left the tavern. Apparently, one of the patrons was foolish enough to try and fight him. Well, so be it; if this person had a death wish, then he would happily grant it.

Kratos turned and his eyes widened in surprise. His stalker was a _woman_, and a very beautiful one at that. In her hands was a sword and shield, reminiscent of those wielded by Greek soldiers from his world. She carried them with familiarity; it was apparent that she knew how to use them. However, she did not have the eyes of a warrior; there was no bloodlust, no anger. Kratos could see compassion and reluctance to fight, but also a fierce determination and an indomitable will. This woman reminded him in many ways of his own wife.

Kratos's surprise quickly faded and was replaced by his normal stone-cold demeanor. Others might take pause in striking down a woman, but not Kratos. She was just another obstacle to be removed.

Casually, Kratos crossed his arms and eyed the woman before him. "So, you are the next challenger. Do you truly wish to fight me?"

Sophitia shook her head. "I don't want to fight you, but I have no choice. I'm sorry, but I have to end you."

Kratos frowned. "So you have a god whom you serve."

A look of surprise crossed Sophitia's face. "How did you know that?"

Kratos nodded at her weapons. "That sword and shield you carry were not made by mortal hands. Both are flawless; neither of them have even the faintest imperfection. Only a god can create such crafts."

Sophitia came to a realization of her own. "You've served gods as well, haven't you?"

Kratos's expression quickly darkened as the memories came back, as painful now as they were years ago. "Yes, I served. I devoted half my life to them, fulfilling their every whim. In return, they betrayed and lied to me, time and time again. You too will soon experience a betrayal of some kind by their hands."

"The gods have always guided me!" Sophitia cried indignantly. "They would never betray me!"

"Is that what you believe?" Kratos scoffed. "Do you really think that your gods truly care about you? There is no such thing as a benevolent god; mortals are only pawns in their eyes, to be used and discarded as they wish."

"That can't be true. The gods, all of them, have a duty to their subjects."

"Gods care nothing of their subjects!" Kratos roared. "You are foolish to think otherwise!"

"Is that why you want Soul Edge and Soul Calibur?" Sophitia demanded. "To take revenge against your gods?"

Kratos's face twisted into a sneer. "My vengeance is already complete," he said.

Sophitia felt her blood suddenly run cold at those words. A man defeating a god was unthinkable, impossible! Yet she knew that Kratos spoke the truth. Now she truly knew just what kind of an opponent she was facing.

Trying not to let despair overwhelm her, she asked, "Then why do you fight? What purpose will acquiring the swords serve?"

To her surprise, Kratos's expression suddenly turned mournful. "My wife and daughter. They were taken from me by one of the gods I served. I was tricked into killing them with my own blades. Now, after ten years of futile effort, I finally have the means to bring them back to me."

"Kratos," Sophitia said gently, "the swords will not help you. They have only the power to destroy. They won't bring back your wife and child."

"I am well aware of this," Kratos growled, reverting back to his normal, harsh appearance. "The blades are not for me. I seek them for another, one who has promised me my family in exchange for the swords."

Sophitia let out a deep sigh. "I understand your reasons, but I'm afraid that I can't let you have the swords. In the wrong hands, they will only bring misery. I'm sorry, but I have to defeat you." She readied herself for the inevitable battle, one that was sure to be her harshest.

Kratos narrowed his eyes and slowly drew his Blades of Oblivion. "So be it. The swords are my only chance of seeing my family again. If you stand in my way…you—will—_die_."


	10. Chapter 10: Mercy and Cruelty

Chapter 10

Mercy and Cruelty

Sophitia leapt as Kratos struck out with his blades. The malevolent weapons struck the ground with earth-shaking power. Two craters were formed under them; had either one of those blades managed to strike her, she would have instantly been killed.

Sophitia had known that Kratos would be perhaps the strongest opponent she would ever face, but she could not believe just how badly outclassed she was. Kratos's weapons afforded him the advantage of distance; his chain blades kept him well out of range of her sword and could effectively lash out with impunity. All Sophitia could do was defend herself as best she could.

Kratos, for his part, felt very strange. Unlike his previous battles, he felt no bloodlust, no fiery hatred fueling him and he had no idea why. This woman was no different than the countless other opponents he had faced. At the moment, Kratos was holding back. He could obliterate her, erase her from existence with a single blow if he so chose.

So why hadn't he?

Kratos ground his teeth in frustration. How could he be feeling this way? He was Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta! He did not show mercy to anyone; all who stood in his path were slaughtered, be they man or woman, monster or god. He tried to shake off the suffocating reluctance, but could not.

For the first time in his life, Kratos had no desire to kill.

That did not, however, mean that he had no desire to defeat her. Kratos was a Spartan, a born and bred fighter. Giving up was not in any Spartan's nature, especially not his. Snapping out his arms, the blades whipped forward towards Sophitia, who threw up her shield to defend herself. Had Kratos actually been trying, that shield would have offered no protection, even if it had been made by a god. As it was, she only received a glancing blow, but even that was sufficient to knock her flat on her back.

Kratos slowly walked over to the woman. "Now you see that you cannot defeat me. Your gods have sent you to your death."

Eyes burning with defiance, Sophitia got back up and said, "Say what you want, but I won't give up!" She lunged at Kratos with all the speed she could muster. Almost casually, Kratos knocked the blow away with his blade and kicked out. Again, with uncharacteristic restraint, Kratos refrained from making it a killing blow. Of course, there was still enough power behind it to send a full-grown man flying.

Surprisingly, Sophitia remained on her feet after taking the hit. It was clear that the kick had given her a good jolt, but she refused to let the pain hinder her. Clenching her sword tightly, Sophitia gritted her teeth and struck out again. Her speed and reaction time, however, had slowed noticeably. Kratos dodged each attack with ease.

Soon, Sophitia was on her last legs. "Gods," she prayed, "grant me the strength to win." Panting, she tried to force her protesting body to keep fighting, but there was little more it could give.

Once more, Kratos knocked her to the ground effortlessly. "This is what happens when you serve gods," he said. "They ply you with honeyed words and tell you that you will reap all the rewards of your servitude, but when you are at your most desperate, they abandon you."

Try as she might, Sophitia knew that Kratos spoke true. The gods, even her patron Hephaestus, did not answer her pleas. It was a truly gut-wrenching feeling, knowing that those whom you had served faithfully and without question suddenly discard you like an unwanted pet.

But Sophitia had a far greater motivation to fight than her service to the gods. Through sheer force of will, she managed to stand back up. "Perhaps the gods have forsaken me, but I do not fight for them. I fight for my children's sake."

Kratos suddenly felt as though a lead weight had dropped into his stomach. "What did you say?" he asked.

"My children," she said, "will never be safe in this world so long as the cursed swords exist and people like you seek them out. I don't fight for myself, I fight for them." Exhausted as she was, she managed to bring up her sword in preparation for one final attack.

Kratos stared blankly at her. All his life, he had only been concerned with what benefited him. Power and glory had been all that he sought while everything else was meaningless to him, even, to his eternal shame, his own family and he had paid a high price for that self-absorbed way of thinking. A price that he had struggled to reclaim for many years. This woman, however, was the exact opposite of what he had been. Where Kratos had hungered for strength, Sophitia only wanted to ensure her family's safety.

"I do not wish to kill you," Kratos stated, "but as I said before, those blades are the only chance I have of seeing _my_ family again. I have gone through far too much to let this opportunity slip away. You know you cannot stop me; leave and I will let you live."

As he said those words, Kratos began asking himself some very difficult questions. Why did he still not want to kill her? He had slaughtered many women, even those with children of their own and never, not even to this day, did he feel remorse over their deaths. Sophitia was no different and, what's more, she actually opposed him in his quest! All who had stood against him had died, without exception.

So why couldn't he bring himself to kill her?

As he battled with himself, Kratos let his guard slip ever so slightly Sophitia took notice of this and threw all she had left into one last attack. She lunged at Kratos, the point of her blade aimed at his heart. This was it; either she killed him or he would kill her. One of them would not see another day.

Just as the sword tip was inches from his chest, Kratos snapped out of his reflection and parried the blow, knocking it out of Sophitia's grasp. The sword clattered some twenty odd feet away. Next, Kratos took hold of her shield and wrenched it off her arm. Now completely defenseless, Sophitia sank to her knees as she watched Kratos reel back to strike back. This time, there would be no restraint; it would be a killing blow.

Sophitia closed her eyes as she waited for death to claim her. A single tear slid down her cheek. _Pyrrha. Patroklos. I'm sorry._

#

The final blow never came. Slowly, Sophitia opened her eyes again; Kratos's blade was held barely an inch from her neck. The young woman looked into the Ghost of Sparta's eyes and asked "Why?"

"Because you value your family above yourself," Kratos answered. "Something that I failed to do." He withdrew the blade from her neck and sheathed it. As he began to walk away, Kratos said, "I will spare your life this time, but do not expect this mercy to be repeated."

#

A ways off from his battle with Sophitia, Kratos was surprised to see Ziradus suddenly appear in front of him, looking positively enraged.

"What was that?" he hissed. "Why did you let her live?"

Unfazed by the being's anger, Kratos replied, "My reasons are my own."

"I wanted to see her die and hear her scream! How dare you deny me that! I did not bring you here just so you could go soft on me. You're the Ghost of Sparta, the most ruthless, brutal creature alive! You don't show mercy, you butcher your way through your tasks! That's the reason I chose you to claim the swords!"

"I am here to get the swords for you, not indulge your sadism. I will take whatever measures I deem necessary to acquire them and I will not be beholden to your whims."

"Is that so?" Ziradus snarled. "Well, I have news for you, _Spartan_: until both Soul Edge and Soul Calibur are in my possession, I own you! I tell you to jump, you jump and if I tell you to kill someone, you damn well kill them!"

Kratos glared at Ziradus, making it plainly obvious that he would love nothing more that to kill him on the spot. "I serve no one, least of all you."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Ziradus retorted with a very nasty smile. "Or have you already forgotten that I still have your family with me?"

He paused to enjoy Kratos's look of utter alarm at his statement before continuing, "That's right, Kratos; until this little adventure is over, your family will be at my mercy, or lack thereof." Ziradus stroked his chin delicately. "Since you seem to have a fondness for that sword-wielding trollop, perhaps I should…make room for her. Out with the old, in with the new, isn't that right? I can hardly imagine the sheer betrayal Lysandra would feel if I were to inform her that she was being replace. And what would dear little Calliope say when she finds out that her beloved father exchanged her doting mother for—"

Ziradus got no further for Kratos had seized him by the front of his shirt and hoisted him high into the air. Quivering with a rage beyond description, Kratos grated, "I will hang you with your own entrails."

"Ah-ah-ah," Ziradus said teasingly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You see, Kratos, I went ahead and took some precautions in case you decided to get a little rebellious. I've made it so that I was to die, then your family dies with me. In essence, if you killed me, you'd be killing your family all over again." He looked Kratos squarely in the eye. "Do you really want to go through that again?"

Even as he spoke, Kratos felt the rage die within him. Of course he had no intention of sacrificing his family again. It was possible that Ziradus was bluffing, but it was one that Kratos would never dare call. His look of defeat was all the answer that was needed.

Ziradus smirked, an expression of gloating triumph. "I thought not. Now, be a good boy and put me down."

Kratos growled, but nevertheless complied.

Straightening out his front, Ziradus said, "That's better. So, now that we understand each other, why don't we go on like this unpleasant little event never happened?" He narrowed his eyes. "I trust I am clear in that I expect you to show no mercy at all in future? Should you happen to come across this Sophitia again, you are going to hack her into tiny, bloody pieces. The same goes for anyone else who happens to impede you. Just go back to being your former, barbaric self and all will be well. Are we in agreement?"

Kratos had to fight a powerful urge to throttle the smug humanoid with his bare hands, but managed to give a single curt nod.

"Excellent." Slowly, Ziradus disappeared, but not before issuing a final word, "Just remember, Spartan, I'll be watching you. Don't displease me again."


	11. Chapter 11: Dampierre the Magnificient

Chapter 11

Dampierre the Magnificent

Dampierre lounged back in his easy chair in his firm office in Venice, pretending to listen to his two henchmen, Ludvigo and Alphard, prattle on about something to do with the next big business deal. Dampierre sighed heavily; never had he thought that he would actually be unhappy with his current state in life. Thanks to his shrewd business sense and silver-tongue, Dampierre had established himself as a legitimate business man, one that was known throughout Italy. Sure, he made a few shady deals every now and then, but then again, who hadn't?

Dampierre stroked his neatly groomed handlebar mustache absently; meanwhile the conversation was becoming heated between Ludvigo and Alphard. Sure, he was wealthier than most men could ever dream of being, but so what? There were millions of others just like him. He had no epic legacy, made no lasting impact on the world, nothing of significance. Once he'd died, everyone would soon forget about Lord Geo Dampierre, a thought that greatly vexed him.

Dampierre was many things, and narcissistic was one of them. He wanted to be immortalized, have tales and poems stretching hours on end written about him. Of course, in order for that to happen, he would have to do something spectacular and so far, fate had seen fit to offer him nothing.

Suddenly, the doors to his office burst open, jerking Dampierre back to reality and ending Ludvigo and Alphard's argument. In bounded Gisele, Dampierre's henchwoman and the best information broker in Italy, if not the world. Her bright green hair was unkempt and she looked breathless; it was obvious that she had important news.

"You guys are not going to believe this," she said breathlessly.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, spit it out!" ordered Dampierre.

Gisele fixed Dampierre with her one-eyed glare and he clamped his mouth shut. That glare was just plain frightening. "I was just about to," she growled. Clearing her throat, she continued, "I'm sure you're all familiar with Kratos, right?"

The three men exchanged quick glances. They had heard of Kratos all right; the mere mention of his name was enough to make the hardest thug wet himself before finding something to hide behind. Everyone who had tried to go up against him had met a grisly end. Not long ago, a famous Italian swordsman named Aurelio Battista, who had been visiting Hungary, had challenged Kratos to a duel, supposedly because his honor had been insulted. Aurelio had mastered several styles of sword fighting and had even invented a few moves of his own.

Those skills apparently counted for little, for eyewitness accounts said that Kratos simply grabbed him by the arm, tore it off, and beat Aurelio to an unrecognizable pulp with it.

Ludvigo looked positively terrified, his thin frame quaking visibly. "He's not here, is he?" he asked, as though Gisele could somehow make it so he wasn't.

Gisele gave a small smirk at the trembling blonde man. "No, he's not. No need to have a clean pair of pants handy." Alphard snickered at that and Ludvigo glowered at him. Unfortunately, with his long thin face and bulging eyes, this act had the effect of making him look like a perturbed mosquito. Not exactly intimidating.

"However," Gisele continued, "there are some people going around and looking for good fighters to help fight against him. Guess Kratos finally got enough people angry at him to really want him dead."

Alphard snorted derisively. "Well, best of luck to 'em. They'll need it. What I've heard, they're gonna need a whole damn army to take him down. Ain't that right boss?"

Dampierre wasn't listening. His imagination had just gone into overdrive. He envisioned himself standing heroically over Kratos's defeated form, victorious where so many others had failed. Golden rays of sun bathed him in their light, illuminating him like an angel from heaven. The scene changed to Dampierre standing before a crowd of cheering people; men applauded, women swooned and children all claimed that they wanted to be like Dampierre, the one who had beaten the savage Kratos.

"Oh, boy," said Alphard. "The boss has his glory-face on." Indeed, Dampierre's face was split by a wide smile while his eyes stared unblinking at the distance. This expression only appeared when he was struck by an idea that he thought would greatly benefit him. Unlike his regular business ideas, which were quite sensible, these were anything but and had always blown up in his face.

Alphard waved a hand in front of Dampierre's face. Then, without warning, he leapt up, overturning the desk and sending Alphard tumbling to the floor in shock. "It's perfect!" he cried out.

Ludvigo, who had begun edging away once he saw his boss's expression and thus remained standing, asked, "What's perfect?"

"The opportunity!" Dampierre declared, gesticulating wildly. "Fame, glory, _immortality_! It's all there for the taking! Gentlemen and lady, we are going to take down Kratos!" Dampierre then proceeded to perform a dance of joy. Meanwhile, the three henchmen were busy gawping at each other. Their boss was clearly out of his mind!

Gisele, as was customary, decided it was high time to be the Voice of Reason. She seized Dampierre by his shirt in mid-pirouette and said in a calm and studied voice, "Dampierre, I know that you have had some insane and often hazardous ideas pop into your head, but this one is by far your craziest. Kratos is _not_ someone you want to mess with. You know all those people who thought they could beat him and ended up as piles of blood and guts? Those were some of the best fighters in the _world_. Now look at us." She made a sweeping gesture at her two cohorts. "We have a better chance of learning how to fly then taking down Kratos."

Gisele released Dampierre, hoping that her words had gotten through to him. Unfortunately, for all the good it did, she might as well have been trying to convince water to not be wet.

"Oh, please," Dampierre scoffed, "you can't believe everything you hear. You know how these stories get more fantastical with every telling. Honestly, I would think you of all people would have more sense."

Before Gisele could utter a retort, Dampierre bounced over to a nearby cupboard and threw it open. From within he drew a pair of retractable punching daggers which he clasped to the underside of his arms. Looking over at his thunderstruck employees, he said, "Well, come on; let's find whoever is recruiting before they leave without us!"

Gisele grimaced and pinched the bridge of her nose while Ludvigo and Alphard stared in mute horror as Dampierre practically skipped out of the room.

"He's serious, isn't he?" asked Ludvigo.

"Oh, yeah," sighed Gisele. "Well, let's get going boys. We have to go and pull our esteemed employer out of the fire…_again_."

#

"No."

"Oh, come on Valeria!" Xianghua whined. "Haven't you ever wanted to go on an adventure? You know, see the world, meet new people, and fight some of them?"

Valeria, the voluptuous and ever cynical proprietor of Items Rare, cast a reproachful glance at her smaller counterpart. "There is a difference between 'going on an adventure' and 'committing suicide.' I'll give you a guess which one fighting Kratos comes under."

While Xianghua pouted at being shot down, Maxi decided to give it a try. Putting on his most dashing smile and slicking back his hair, he leaned across the counter, suave as can be, and said, "Come on, beautiful. It'll be fine. You won't have to worry about big bad Kratos so long as Maxi is around."

Valeria smirked and replied, "Yes, I'm sure I won't have to worry about Kratos with you around. He'll be too busy mutilating you to bother with me." Abruptly, her smirk disappeared and was replaced once more by her characteristic frown. "Save your handsome-man routine for someone else." She returned to the Persian vase that she had been cleaning before being interrupted. Xianghua was left to drag a thunderstruck Maxi out of the shop.

"She resisted," Maxi said feebly as they entered the streets of Venice. "But …the hair…the smile…she can't… how?"

"There, there," Xianghua soothed. "It was a one-time thing." Internally, she rolled her eyes. Honestly, Maxi was such a drama queen; one woman doesn't throw herself at his feet after pitching his macho man routine and he acts like it's the first sign of the apocalypse!

_If there's anyone out there that's even more self-absorbed than Maxi, then I'll lose all faith in humanity_, she thought.

Then, as if acting upon her thoughts, the path of the two warriors was obstructed by one Lord Geo Dampierre. "Greetings! I am none other the one and only Dampierre! Yes I, the Invincible Duelist, the World's Greatest Assassin, the Miraculous Master of Blades, have heard that you require assistance in defeating the infamous Kratos! Well, look no further, for I shall gladly offer you my services!"

In the back of her mind, Xianghua silently bid humanity's future a fond farewell.


	12. Chapter 12: Warriors Gather

Chapter 12

Warriors Gather

After Maxi, Kilik and Xianghua had agreed to join with Taki and Mitsurugi, fortune had since delivered Yoshimitsu, who had been on a journey of his own, but had felt that his goal could wait until Kratos had been dealt with. Yun-seong and Seong Mi-na had also been recruited, believing that letting the two enchanted swords fall into the hands of a ruthless killer would be a death sentence for all they held dear and Nathaniel "Rock" Adams had also pledged his support, for the sake of his adoptive son. Even Setsuka had volunteered, though in return, she demanded that Mitsurugi duel her if they survived.

Taki had known when she first set out to gather allies that they would be few and far between. Some were too far away to assist, others flat out refused to help, declaring that a fight against Kratos was the same as slitting their own throats. Though the current members of their band were all formidable in their own right, Kratos was far above any of them; if they were to have any chance of success, Taki knew that she was going to need all the help she could get. Time, however, was not on her side. Every day spent searching for allies, Kratos drew ever closer to obtaining the swords and if he should manage to acquire even one of them, then their efforts were as good as wasted. This would have to be their last recruitment if they wanted enough time to catch up to the relentless man.

A few minutes later, Xianghua walked up, Maxi trailing behind her. Taki immediately moved to intercept her and asked, "Well? Were you successful?" Xianghua looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Yes…and no," she replied. Taki raised an eyebrow and Xianghua explained, "Valeria was quite adamant that she would not be coming with us. Maxi even gave her his best handsome-man routine. No go." She jerked a thumb at her companion, who still had the mortified look of a man whose masculinity had taken a heavy blow. Taki ignored him.

"Then I trust that you had some other manner of success?"

"If you have a very broad definition of the word."

No sooner had she said this when up bounded Dampierre, with his three subordinates following close behind. "Good day, my dear lady! I am Lord Geo Dampierre, the finest warrior you could ever hope to lay eyes on! It is with great pleasure that I offer the services of myself and my three companions to your cause." He beamed, obviously quite pleased with how he had presented himself.

Taki favored them all with a steely gaze. Dampierre looked more like an eccentric dandy than an actual fighter, with his gaudy clothing and immaculately groomed handlebar mustache. If he was the greatest fighter ever, then she would swallow her blades. Taki quickly placed his odds of survival at "abysmal." As for his underlings, they were not much better. The men were physically unfit, one being thin to the point of emaciated, while the other was just a shade under morbidly obese. Taki marked their survival rating as "nonexistent;" the most they could aspire to would be meat shields.

The only one of them that even vaguely resembled a capable fighter was the one-eyed, green-haired woman. Unlike the two men, who were clearly wishing they were anywhere else right now, she held herself with the bearings of one who had been in a number of fights. When Taki's hard stare reached her, she did not flinch back like her male cohorts, but instead matched it. The ninja's gaze lingered on Gisele.

"Tell me, how do you fight with only one eye?" Taki asked. "Your range of vision must be severely impaired."

"Gee, I don't know," Gisele returned scathingly. "How do _you_ fight with those melons strapped to your chest? You must find it very hard to stand up straight."

Taki's eyes widened in surprise at the sharp comeback. Off to the side, Xianghua tried and failed to stifle a snort of laughter. Taki snapped a quick glare at her and then focused back on Gisele.

"I have hunted demons across the world, killed warlords in their own fortresses and fought a thousand opponents, each one far above you and each one _dead_. You would do well to remember that."

Ludvigo and Alphard hastily moved back. Gisele simply made a look of mock horror. "Ooh, someone save me. Miss Moo-Cow is going to crush me with her Rack of Death!"

This time, Xianghua broke out into hearty gales of laughter.

Taki continued to stare down Gisele, who stared right back. Though thoroughly rankled, Taki had to acknowledge that her counterpart had spirit. It was certainly very tempting to show the irreverent little bitch just how easily "Miss Moo-Cow" could knock her flat on her ass, but more mature logic prevailed. Taki turned to face Dampierre.

"Very well," she said. "If you and your underlings want to aid us, then you are welcome to come along."

A few more teeth presented themselves in Dampierre's smile. "Excellent! I know that my dear subordinates are as thrilled as I am!"

"Like hell we are," Alphard muttered. That comment earned him a sharp whack over the head, courtesy of his employer.

"Well, I suppose we'll go and introduce ourselves to the rest of the band," Dampierre proclaimed. Taki pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed; so this was what the bottom of the barrel looked like.

#

Mitsurugi sat cross-legged, meditating on the events yet to come. The sound of rustling grass penetrated his thoughts; opening his eyes, he saw Taki now standing not far from him.

"So, our mighty army comes together at last," the samurai remarked dryly. "Surely the terrible Kratos will be brought to heel before us."

"Don't patronize me," Taki growled. "I know better than anyone how low our chances are at stopping him."

"And yet you still refuse to let them know just what they'll be facing."

"We've already been through this; if I let them know what's in store for them, they might leave. The two of us will not be enough to defeat Kratos."

"All the more reason to warn them," Mitsurugi said.

"Ignorance is bliss," cited Taki.

"Not on the battlefield," the samurai countered. "Ignorance gets you killed, or worse. If you don't warn them, then all you'll be doing is making Kratos's task of killing us all the more easy."

Taki, however, was unmoved. "There are greater things at stake than the lives of a few. This conversation is done." With that, she strode off to be alone.

Mitsurugi growled under his breath. Damn that insufferable ninja! How could she not see that she was only hampering herself? If so much was at stake, then why did she stubbornly insist on making a decision that jeopardized it all? A few weeks ago, before he had fought Kratos, he had thought he was untouchable. After getting thoroughly trounced by him, Mitsurugi had initially tried to excuse the loss as a result of underestimating his opponent, and that it would not happen again. Upon further reflection, the samurai came to the conclusion that even if he had not been a cocksure fool, Kratos still would have kicked him around like a child does a ball. He could argue and reason all he wanted; that fact would not change.

Mitsurugi made a decision of his own. To hell with the ninja and her bone-headed logic! These people were laying down their very lives to fight against a monster in the guise of a man. They deserved to know precisely what he was capable of.

#

Later that night, after traveling a fair distance, the band had gathered around a large campfire. Stories were swapped, food was eaten, and everyone described how they would take down Kratos when they finally faced him. Out of sight, Mitsurugi listened as the unaware warriors talked as though victory was an absolute certainty. Glancing around, he saw that Taki was there as well, and out of the entire group, only she was not joining in the festivities. Mitsurugi took a deep breath; time to let the poor souls in on the unfortunate truth. Without a word, he strode up to the gathered companions and immediately caught their attention. Maxi was the first to speak.

"Hey there, 'rugi!" he had lately been referring to the samurai with an abbreviation of his name, something that Mitsurugi found quite annoying. "Have a seat. We were just talking about how we're going to make Kratos sorry he was ever born."

"So I heard. And you're all fools for thinking that it will be so easy."

The festivities quickly ceased as Mitsurugi's comment sank in. Taki's head snapped up and looked at the samurai with utter shock. Maxi was the first to recover.

"What are you talking about? We all know it's gonna be one pisser of a battle."

"You all have no idea just how difficult the battle is going to be," Mitsurugi insisted. "I've already fought against Kratos. Now, I can say for a fact that I am one of the best swordsmen in world." There a few derisive snorts which Mitsurugi ignored. "And I got my ass handed to me in less than a minute.

"I could say that I was cocky, that I underestimated him, and that would be true, but even if I hadn't, I still would have lost. I'm telling you right now that all my skills counted for absolutely nothing. If it had not been for Taki saving me, I would be dead right now. Hell, Taki fought with him for a bit and she hardly fared any better."

Mitsurugi paused for a moment before continuing. "You see, Kratos is no mere man. If any of you have heard rumors about him, they probably are true. He is not from this world; it is very likely that he has faced opponents that eclipse any of us and killed them. It is even possible that he has fought and killed _gods_. That is what we will be facing."

Suddenly, all those gathered around the fire were not so sure of themselves anymore. No doubt they had imagined that their future enemy would be a monster of a fighter, but judging by the looks of sheer shock, none of them could have conceived that someone could not only fight, but actually kill deities. For her part, Taki was glaring bloody murder at him.

_Good_, thought Mitsurugi. _Let her be mad. Better forewarned and prepared than ignorant and dead_.

"Taki doesn't want you to know this because she thinks that you will turn tail and run," he said, gesturing to the seated ninja; a small snarl twisted her lips. "I, however, feel differently. Each of you has the right to know exactly what's in store for all of you. I won't lie; our chances of pulling this off are as low as they can possibly be. Death is almost assured for all of us, myself included. So, if any of you want to back out now, you will not be thought less of."

In all honesty, Mitsurugi expected at least half of their small band to stand up and run like all hell. Instead, he was surprised that, after a few moments, no one stood up to leave. Finally, Yoshimitsu stood up.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say that we will not be leaving." His voice was bereft of his usual comical tone. "This Kratos cannot be allowed to acquire the swords. If he does, then the farthest reaches of the world will not be safe. Running away will change nothing."

One by one, the group nodded their agreement. Sure, they were no longer the swaggering bunch they had been earlier, but they still had fire in their eyes. Though the mood was now more somber than it had been, the determination was still there.

"Well then," said Mitsurugi, "I guess that's that." He began to walk away so that he could resume his mediation. Moments later, he heard the sound of footsteps, amplified by what could only be described as pure rage. He was then accosted from behind and slammed up against a nearby tree by, to his expectation, Taki, who looked quite murderous. In the blink of an eye, one of her blades was pressed up against his throat.

"You stupid, stubborn ronin," she hissed. "You could have ruined everything!"

"And yet I didn't," retorted Mitsurugi. "Now they know what exactly is in store for them and our chances are improved, if only a little."

"What if your little speech made them all bolt like frightened rabbits? What then? We would have had _no_ chance of stopping Kratos! None! I should kill you right here!"

Mitsurugi gazed down at her, completely unafraid. "And deny yourself a sorely needed swordsman? I don't think so. Like you said, we need all the help we can get to stop Kratos. One man or woman could be the difference between victory and defeat."

For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved. Then, Taki let out a single growl of frustration. With a flourish, she sheathed her blade and stepped away from the samurai.

"Get some rest. We leave at dawn."

With a smug smile, Mitsurugi said, "Yes, commander."


End file.
